


Oh, To Be Loved By You

by Rheaird_of_Life



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Romantic Comedy, but in a way that's uniquely them, eve is perpetually bewildered or annoyed, just two idiots in love, pillow talk basically, villanelle is full of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rheaird_of_Life/pseuds/Rheaird_of_Life
Summary: A series of conversations I want them to have in Season Four.Features: Killing Bill, Villanelle's wife, human dildos, Eve's origin story, love confessions, weapons training...and whatever else I come up with
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 205
Kudos: 620





	1. Chapter 1

It's just three days after the bridge before they end up having sex. She hesitates to call it that though. Villanelle can't really describe it. She's never experienced it before.

For her, sex has always been a tool. A means to an end. A momentary reprieve from the boredom and aching nothingness she usually feels. _Used_ to feel.

The thrill of the hunt, ensnaring the prey was where she got her real pleasure from. That moment of her latest victims sexual surrender, not unlike her kills.

When she dominated them completely, the surge of power, and above all, control was intoxicating. That was the main reason she did it. That was the main reason she had done all of it.

But she had never been in control, not really, someone else had always been pulling the strings.

Giving what little control she had to someone else, even for a moment, was unthinkable. She's never in her entire life let someone else take the reigns in the bedroom.

Old, bad habits had almost ruined everything.

When it's over for the first time, when she finally surrenders to Eve, she's overcome with emotion. She never knew it could be like this. She never knew it could be so intimate. So fulfilling. So much...more.

Eve has touched her in more ways than one, and she doesn't know how to deal. She's crying even more than she did on the bathroom floor after her botched hit. Eve seems to instinctively understand what's going on, so she collects her into her arms and just holds her for what feels like forever. It's the first time anyone has held her this way, in this particular setting, and she actually wanted it. Needed it.

It isn't just a ploy to seem normal. Like with Anna.

Then when things die down to a dull roar, Eve pulls back a bit to look at her, concern etching her lovely features. “Are you all right?”

They're the first words she ever spoke to her, a million years ago in the hospital bathroom. Right before she slaughtered a bunch of defenseless people.

That starts her up all over again. All of the horrible things she had done. All of the people she had killed. And for what? Money? Power? Control? All of it was just an illusion. She ruined countless lives for no reason. She really is a monster.

“Hey, hey, shhh,” coos Eve in her ear, drawing her back to her bosom. She kisses her temple. “It's going to be all right. You're going to be all right.”

“How can you say that, Eve?” she laments, choking on broken sobs. “I killed him. I killed Bill. Your friend. A father. A husband. I don't even have a good reason. I only did it to taunt you. How can you just forgive and forget?”

If someone had killed her brothers right in front of her eyes, she doesn't think she could ever forgive the perpetrator.

There's a moment of tense silence. Eve's voice is somewhat strained when she answers. “You were a different person then.”

“It doesn't excuse what I did. It doesn't excuse what I did to you.”

“No, it doesn't,” says Eve with a hint of old venom. “You took him away from me, from everyone that loved him. And that can never be undone.” Her next softer words seem to be chosen with deliberate slowness and care. As if she's afraid of upsetting _her_ further. “We all make choices, every single day of our lives, and sometimes we make the wrong ones. Sometimes we make the worst one we could possibly make. Sometimes someone dies as a consequence. Sometimes many people die. And you just have to live with that. You just have to live with it for the rest of your life. But more than that, you have to find a way to do the hardest thing imaginable.”

“What's that?” she asks quietly, almost childlike.

“You have to find a way to forgive yourself.”

She closes her eyes, wills herself not to start crying for the third time. Despite her best efforts, silent tears continue to leak. If she doesn't stop crying she's going to start hiccuping and she _hates_ that almost as much as Dasha's horrendous fashion sense. She can't believe she was the same woman who once trained her to look 'devastating.' But if Dasha can change for the worse, maybe she can change for the better? Maybe she already has?

“But I don't deserve forgiveness,” she murmurs, lip trembling. “I don't deserve you.”

She clutches Eve tighter, too tight, as if she expects she will agree and give up on her and just take off right now in the buff. Eve strokes her hair reassuringly, and Villanelle releases her python hold, the one she would normally use to crush a man's neck. Or Rhian's...

“Maybe not, but you have me anyway. And I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. So if you need to cry, Villanelle, then cry. It won't change how I feel about you. It won't make me leave you. Nothing will.”

The sentiment gives her goosebumps. Something normally only reserved for ghosts.

Now that things have settled a bit, feel a bit safer, she pulls back again to stare into Eve's eyes. “You really mean that, don't you?” she says in awe. “You're going to stick with me until the end?”

Whatever that means for them. Good or bad. Probably bad.

Does she really have the right to drag Eve down with her, to whatever seat in hell she assigned herself years ago?

“I do. And I still believe we can take down The Twelve. There's got to be a way.”

Villanelle takes a moment to appreciate the fiery determination in her gaze. It's very sexy. Then again, most of Eve is very sexy. Especially that mole on her-

“What happened to going cold turkey?”

She honestly wants to forget about all of that spy shit and just stay here in this moment forever. But if it's important to Eve to see this through, she would too.

“We already tried that, remember? And now look where we are. I think no matter what we did, we'd always have ended up here. Together. I think the more I tried to fight this, the more my monster came out to play. And I'm so tired of fighting. With you. With myself. I'd much rather direct that energy towards the people who started all this. And I know it will be dangerous. I know it could all end badly. But what's life without a little risk?”

It's hardly a little risk, but she doesn't want to get into it right now.

“That's really inspiring, Eve. You should write adverts for cigarette companies.”

“Ah, there she is,” smiles Eve.

She gives Eve a puzzled look.

“You made a joke. You must be feeling better.” Eve places a tender hand to the side of her tear streaked face. “More like yourself.”

“God, I hope not.”

_I hope I never do again._


	2. Chapter 2

When their latest brain storming session hits another dead end, Eve pulls Villanelle into bed once again. Something she is hardly complaining about.

“You're like a horny teenager, Eve,” joked Villanelle, right before Eve had shut her up with her tongue.

Afterwards, as they bask in the afterglow for the umpteenth time, Eve's head on her slightly damp chest and Villanelle's fingers stroking her arm, Eve asks, “Do you miss them, your clothes?”

“At this particular moment, not really,” comes the cheeky response.

She set her up for that one and only has herself to blame.

Even so, Eve rolls her eyes. “You _know_ what I mean. You're stuck wearing the same plain things day in and day out. Must be hard for you.”

Villanelle kisses the top of her head. “Not as hard as leaving you behind would have been.”

Eve smiles to herself, like a dumb, smitten...teenager.

“When did you decide not to do that? The dance? Or only when Konstantin asked you to come with?”

“Before either of those things. When you came after me at the train station. That's when I knew I couldn't do it. That's why I called you.”

“Would you have gone off to Cuba if I hadn't shown up there?”

“I don't know.”

That admission hangs heavy between them. If not for chance, things could have been very different right now. The bus altercation might have been the last time she ever set eyes on her. Almost simultaneously they give the other a reassuring squeeze, which elicits smiles from both.

“So why did you have me get the money code for Konstantin then?”

“Because it's always good to have a backup plan. And he was too sick to and I was too busy.”

“Dealing with our party crasher.”

Villanelle starts playing with her hair absentmindedly, as she often does. But this feels different somehow. “Yeah.”

Reluctantly, she pulls away so she can she prop herself up on her arm and get a better look at her. Villanelle just stares at the ceiling blankly.

“It was hard for you, wasn't it?”

“It was horrible,” answers Villanelle without thought. Then she blinks back into awareness, turns, and also props herself up on her arm. She touches Eve's face softly. “Eve, I'm so sorry about Rome. If I had understood then what I understand now, I never would have made you kill Raymond.” She looks down to the large chest scar and bites her lip. And not in a sexy way. “I never would have shot you either,” she practically whispers, nearly on the verge of tears again.

Not exactly a frequent occurrence, but far more frequent than Eve was ever anticipating. Out of the two of them, Villanelle has done almost all of the crying and pleading for forgiveness. If she's being totally honest, it's getting a bit annoying.

So she uses her vague, go to response. “I know.”

As usual, this seems to satisfy Villanelle. She moves in a little closer and strokes her arm some more. “Was it hard for you? Leaving everything behind?”

“Wasn't much to leave behind. Niko told me to piss off forever. Through a voice box no less.” She chuckles. “He sounded like Mr. Roboto.”

They share one long look and then burst into laughter. The whole thing really was ridiculous now that some time and space had been achieved.

“That's what everyone told me at my wedding reception!”

They both stop cackling abruptly. Villanelle looks at her wide-eyed. Clearly in disbelief that she let that particular nugget of information slip.

It takes Eve several steadying moments to wrap her head around that one.

“You got married?”

“Uh...yes?” says Villanelle, giving her an apologetic face. She shies away slightly, as if she expects Eve to start hitting her at any moment.

Eve takes another calming breath. “To a man?”

Villanelle relaxes a bit, becomes more her usual confident self. “Of course not, Eve. Are you crazy? Men are only good for one thing. And often not even _that_.” The bravado dissipates a little as she intently watches Eve's reaction. “Why do I get the impression you're more mad that I married a woman?”

Eve makes a fist but tries to keep her voice level. “Why do you _think_?”

As if she was just slapped, Villanelle flinches. “Don't be jealous,” she tries to say teasingly, but the nerves leak through. “She meant nothing to me.”

Eve remembers her saying something to that effect some seven months ago.

“Let me guess,” she says, anger simmering more brightly. “When you were with her, you weren't _with_ her?”

“You can't be mad,” swallows Villanelle, backing further away from her, so that her ass is almost hanging off the bed. “You broke my heart. She was my rebound. I wanted to try something I hadn't done before. I wanted to try being normal.”

The implication of course being, if she hadn't 'broken her heart in Rome', it would have been Eve she tried being normal with. They both know it would've been a train wreck, and that knowledge softens her demeanor. Though not entirely.

“So you married her?” she scoffs, without heat. “How did that even work?” Villanelle looks at her, still afraid, but less so. “You know, because of the whole assassin thing? Paperwork had to be signed.”

“I have had many different aliases, Eve. You know this. It's not hard to get a new identity with enough money in the right pockets.”

Fair enough.

“How did you meet?” she asks conversationally. Now that the shock has worn off, she's more curious than anything else.

Villanelle picks up on her less threatening attitude, and shuffles her cute butt closer. She rests both hands under her head, apparently to avoid the temptation of touching Eve right now and poking the bear.

“The airport. Well, _officially_ the airport,” smirks Villanelle. “I _might_ have been stalking her for awhile before that.”

“How romantic,” says Eve dryly.

“I needed to know if she was going to be worth my time. Turns out she was very rich.”

“And that's all it took for you?” says Eve, rolling her eyes again. “Don't you have plenty of your own money?”

“Not really. It's mostly scattered all over the place. Not very accessible. What we have in this room right now is about it.”

That was something for her, for _them,_ to worry about later. Right now she wanted to get down to the bottom of this other woman. What kind of moron falls for someone like Villanelle? Or well, someone like Villanelle _used_ to be? Surely there were tons of red flags?

_All of which you ignored too._

“What did you tell her you did?”

“That I was a sunscreen heiress.”

She blinks at that, remembering Villanelle's frankly hot transformation into three distinct personalities. “You're shitting me.”

Villanelle grins slightly. “I told her that I was an aspiring interior designer. That I was working on my portfolio and that exploring her home would be a very useful learning experience.”

_Exploring her home. A learning experience. I bet._

The irritation and anger begins to simmer anew. “I want to see a photo.”

“Of her house?” frowns Villanelle in confusion. “It was nice but I don't see why-”

“I want to see what your _wife_ looks like,” she snaps.

“Eve, don't be stupid,” smiles Villanelle, trying to lighten the mood.

Which is just the wrong fucking thing to say to her. And that carefree attitude is pissing her off.

“How is that being stupid?” she says grinding her teeth. She gets onto her knees, looms over Villanelle, who shrinks back and swallows anxiously again. “You know what _my_ spouse looks like, I want to see _yours_.”

“I'm not going to show you a picture.”

“Why? Because she's hotter than me?”

“Younger. Not hotter.”

“So we're equally hot then?”

“No, you're way hotter, Eve. I swear. And much better in bed. She was too much of a pillow princess. You know how to take charge. It's very sexy.”

Villanelle tries to reach for her but Eve shakes her off.

“Oh no, you're not getting off the hook _that_ easily. If you want in these pants again-”

“You're not wearing any pants.”

“-then I want to see what she looks like.”

Eve has almost pushed her off the bed again and Villanelle looks only too happy to fall and put more distance between them and her impending doom.

“I can't show you what she looks like.”

“ _Why not_?”

“Because I don't have any photos.”

“You're shitting me.”

“You already said that.”

Her patience is nearly at an end.

“How can you not have a _single_ photo of your wife?”

“I don't have my phone anymore. Got rid of it remember? Because my toxic boss wants me dead?”

“Facebook then,” she decides, getting to her feet and walking off the bed. “Let's go on there right now.”

“Eve, this is so stupid,” whines Villanelle. She runs a hand through her sex mussed hair and flashes Eve a seductive smile. “Why are we fighting about this when we could be having sex?”

“What's her name?” she demands, as she wrenches open the MacBook Pro and opens the social media app. “And _don't_ tell me you don't remember it or some bullshit like that,” she glares over her shoulder.

Villanelle has collected herself more securely on the bed, but she looks terrified all the same. She pulls a pillow in front of her chest, for comfort or protection, Eve's not sure. It _definitely_ wasn't for modesty. She mutters something that Eve can't hear.

“What was that?”

Villanelle clears her throat. “Maria Vorontsova.”

Eve puts this into the search box and sees that Villanelle's wife is a very attractive Spanish woman. Which meant...

“You're shitting me.”

“You really need to get some new material, Eve.”

“She seriously took your last name.”

“My _fake_ last name.”

“That makes it even worse!” She scrolls through some of the most recent posts, each one worse than the one before. “God, look at this post. It sounds like she's in rehab now. Jesus, you really messed her up.”

“I have that effect on people,” says Villanelle weakly.

Eve whips around in her chair to pierce her with a dagger filled stare. “Are you going to see her again?”

Once more, Villanelle flinches like Eve has hit her. “What? Why would I do that?”

“Because she's your wife. And you sent her into rehab. And you're supposed to be a changed person. You really don't care at all?”

Villanelle gives her a non-committal shrug. “Not really?”

“Good,” she says gruffly, getting to her feet. “Because you're all mine now. Wife or no wife.” Eve removes the pillow from Villanelle's tight embrace and straddles her. She leans in, lips ghosting the shell of her ear, making Villanelle shiver and place her hands on her hips. “You know, I slept with a _much_ younger woman about three weeks before the bus incident.”

It takes a few seconds for that to register. Villanelle blinks out of her arousal. “You're shitting me.”

Without a word, or giving anything away, she extricates herself, goes into the bathroom and locks the door.

“Eve? Eve??” she bangs on the door. “I'm almost certain you're pulling my leg. But it's not very nice!”

Eve opens the door and just stands there, arms crossed. “No, it's not.”

“What do you want me to do?” pleads Villanelle, with puppy dog eyes to boot. “Promise I won't ever marry another woman again?”

“No, I don't want that.”

“Oh,” says Villanelle, perking up once she clues into Eve's meaning. She undoes Eve's arms and wraps them around her neck. “In that case, Mrs. Polastri, you really need to get a divorce.”


	3. Chapter 3

It's like they're quarantined together but there's no plague trying to kill them. Just an international criminal enterprise that could strike at any moment. Villanelle was a lot more adept at surveillance and counter-surveillance, and just generally disguising herself, so it only made sense for her to do their supply runs. One could only eat take out for so many days before they got fed up.

Unsurprisingly, Villanelle would normally get food from high end places, which is exactly why they hadn't been. They didn't want to leave an obvious trail while they continued to fruitlessly think of ways to take down The Twelve once and for all. It's also why they've been keeping on the move, finding a new out of the way place to shack up in every few days or so. Most of these places were shit holes. This place was no exception. But as long as the bed wasn't disgusting, she couldn't care less.

Approximately four seconds after Villanelle steps in the door after her latest supply run, she looks at her and says, “When this is all over I'm going to take you out to a five star restaurant in Quebec City, order everything on the menu, and then check us into the honeymoon suite of the Fairmont and make love to you all night long.”

Taken aback, Eve nearly drops the bag she took out of Villanelle's overburdened hand. It's not the first time she's said something like that, knowing full well it turned her on. Niko could never even dream of boasting such a thing. Except for their five year anniversary when he had splurged and taken her to _The Fat Duck_ , which specialized in molecular gastronomy, they had never really gone anywhere fancy. Granted, all of Villanelle's scattered wealth was literally blood money, but to-meh-to, tomato.

No, what takes Eve aback is the phrase she just used.

(And the fact that she picked quaint Canada out of literally every other place on the planet)

It's been weeks now but Eve still hasn't said those three little words. Despite practically telling Villanelle that she would marry her if she was able to. It's not shame that's holding her back, it's just that she doesn't want to give up that last little bit of power she has over Villanelle. Not if she's still wholly reliant on her for survival.

All she can think to say is, “Aren't you afraid that we'll both be too bloated and gassy after so much food?”

Villanelle scowls. “Seriously, Eve? Way to ruin the moment.”

She stalks over to the barely functioning fridge in a sulk.

Eve collects her wits and follows soon after. “Sorry. I think you're starting to rub off on me.”

Villanelle pauses in her restocking to throw a suddenly flirtatious look over her shoulder, and Eve knows what's coming before it does. “I think I've been doing that for awhile now.” When Eve doesn't react she adds, “You know, because we've been doing the monster mash so much?”

It's Eve's turn to scowl. “I already told you not to call it that, Villanelle.”

What happened to fifteen seconds ago?

Villanelle gives her a bewildered, innocent look then goes back to the task at hand, a not so secret smirk in place.

Eve sighs and resigns herself to a long day, a suspicion quickly proven true.

Practically the moment the fridge is partially filled with the essentials, Villanelle turns to her and says, “So that time I went to see the mustache and tattled on you...” Here she strokes her scar through the fabric of her simple cotton tee. 

“Yeah, what about it?” she asks warily.

“He pinned me to the wall the same way he pinned you.”

Several seconds pass by as her brain catches up to the words. “You were watching?”

Villanelle's only response is to push her against the grungy fridge. Her look is now devoid of feeling. Predatory. Thrilling. She places a forearm against Eve's neck and presses gently at first.

“Did you have fun that night?”

All Eve can do is nod slightly, her arousal already raging. 

The pressure increases, partially choking her.

“Did you think about me when you were fucking him?”

Again the tiniest nod. Again, an increase in pressure. 

“You often did that, didn't you?”

After this affirmative response, she really can't breathe at all.

Logically, Eve knows that Villanelle would never seriously hurt her. Not again. Still, it's a little discombobulating to have someone so adept at murder cutting off your air supply so completely.

She's on the verge of protesting or attempting to push her off when Villanelle stops of her own accord. She stands there and smiles at Eve like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. Eve drags in a few lungfuls of breath, her excitement vanishing in a flash. 

_What the fuck?_

Even after all this time together - to be honest, _too_ much time - Villanelle's capriciousness still catches her off guard. 

“You're welcome. And you're welcome for the sex in Rome too.”

That gets her sputtering. “I don't...I didn't...I mean...I only _listened_ to you. I didn't actually... _you_ _know_.”

She awkwardly gestures to her nether region.

“No need to be embarrassed, Eve,” says Villanelle smugly, clearly getting the response she was after. “I wanted you to let go. That was the whole point. It's annoying that you felt the need to use human dildos in my place. But I understand.”

Her head still seems to be spinning from the lack of oxygen and she can't form articulate responses. “I didn't...I mean...that wasn't... how could you _possibly_...”

“Because I _know_ you, Eve. Back then there's no way you would've just masturbated about me. You were too conflicted.”

“So you think I cheated instead?” she says indignantly, reclaiming her wits once more.

Villanelle just raises an eyebrow and Eve deflates. Technically she was cheating right now, they both were, so it was a moot point.

Villanelle goes back over to the door where she had apparently dropped another smaller bag unnoticed by Eve. 

She scoops this up and grins. “Speaking of dildos, I got us a present.”

**

Villanelle is sprawled over her thighs, cute butt facing her. Eve is propped up, and is alternating between stroking Villanelle's hair and her back, something Villanelle seems to immensely enjoy. Once in awhile she arches her butt up a little. 

Like a fucking cat.

“Do you think I have mommy issues?”

“Well, you did kill her. So yes,” she returns dryly.

Somehow, when Villanelle confessed this particular sin, Eve wasn't surprised. Or particularly put out. Given her childhood, or lack thereof, it seemed like the natural course of events. Eve wouldn't say she was proud of Villanelle for killing her. 

Not to her face anyway.

“I meant, do you think my attraction to you...and Anna is related to my mom?”

Eve pretends to mull that over. “Definitely. From what you've told me about her, she was a real piece of work. And it sounds like you actively sought out older women who were the opposite of her. Women who were gentle and caring and loved you unconditionally.”

She's not really sure that describes herself, not anymore, but it fit Anna to a T. Or maybe not. Intentionally or not, Anna had manipulated Oksana's emotions, and her reliance on her, and her love. And in effect, isn't she doing the same thing by being withholding?

For a second Eve freaks, thinking she's basically just admitted to loving Villanelle. Villanelle flips around, studies her for a bit, and Eve freaks all over again. 

“You haven't been very _gentle_ with me lately, Eve.”

Internally she sighs in relief, still not ready for that conversation. Perhaps Villanelle can tell?

Eve rolls her eyes and Villanelle grins. Villanelle glances sideways, starts playing with Eve's toes. She tries her best not to jerk away at the sensation. If she does, Villanelle will just hold her down and tickle her mercilessly until she's pissing herself. 

Eve knows this from first hand experience.

“Does it bother you? That I have a mommy kink?”

“I'd say it's near the bottom of the pile,” she says truthfully, increasingly fearful that she's going to be wetting the bed again soon. Especially considering she hasn't peed in many hours.

“What about you? Do you have any disturbing issues I should know about?” She catches Eve's eye. “Besides your toe fungus?”

“I do not have toe fungus, Villanelle,” she frowns.

“Then why do your feet smell so bad?” Villanelle wrinkles her nose. “Like arsehole.”

“My feet smell like feet,” she explains, trying not to get mad. Or self-conscious. “There's nothing wrong with them.”

“Then I guess the issue is with your nose instead. Which also explains why you're fine stinking up the place with your sleep farts.”

Eve hits her in the face with a pillow and Villanelle puts on a mock affronted look.

“See what I mean? Not gentle at all.” 

Rich coming from someone who recently choked her out.

Villanelle gets a devious look and Eve knows what's coming.

“Villanelle, NO!!!” she shouts at the same time Villanelle dives for her feet.

They tussle for a bit on the bed, eventually rolling off of it altogether. Like a weighted coin was flipped and malfunctioning, she ends up on top for once, tails beating out heads. She thinks about trying to tickle Villanelle back, but decides against it. For one thing, she seemed to be impervious to that particular torture, and for another, that was the reason she pissed herself the last time. As punishment for trying to find her weakness.

Seemingly unperturbed at being butt naked on the nasty floor, Villanelle gazes up at her serenely for a lengthy moment. Internally, Eve freaks, thinking she's about to confess her love, and the backlash that will ensue if she doesn't reciprocate.

Instead Villanelle just kisses her softly and says, “What do you want for dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this chapter into two parts because it was longer than this entire thing so far. I'll probably post the next part on Saturday or Sunday.
> 
> Also, I'm Canadian and thought it would be funny to have her pick a hotel here for their 'honeymoon'. And the fact that most Parisians hate Quebecois.


	4. Chapter 4

They had gotten into a routine when making dinner. Eve would get out the ingredients and kitchenware while Villanelle searched through Spotify for some new music to listen to as they prepared the meal. Today's first selection is _You Give Love a Bad Name_ by Bon Jovi. 

“ _Shot through the heart, and you're to blame. Darling, you give looove a bad name.”_

Eve tries not to put too much weight into the song choice and ascribe too much personal meaning to the lyrics. Though for obvious reasons they hit close to home. For a few moments, her scar throbs with the phantom pain that finally left her after the bus altercation.

_“An angel's smile is what you sell. You promise me heaven, then put me through hell. Chains of love got a hold on me. When passion's a prison, you can't break free...”_

Villanelle just stands there for a minute, face scrunched up adorably and Eve assumes she doesn't like it and will switch to something else. Which to be honest, Eve wouldn't be mad about.

Then Villanelle shrugs and starts bobbing her head to the energetic tune.

Being in the kitchen with knives often gives Eve pause. There's just always this lingering dread that Villanelle will suddenly go full psycho on her. It's more or less irrational at this point. Eve knows that, and still the fear persists. It's just that...Villanelle is used to being a lone wolf. She's not used to sharing her space with someone else, and definitely not for such extended periods of idle time. For all she knows, one day Villanelle will finally have enough of her, of this impossible mission she's set them on, and leave.

But not without first finishing what she started in Rome.

Again, her scar throbs, and this time she can't help but to rub at it. An action that doesn't go unnoticed. Even though Villanelle doesn't look at her directly, it's obvious that she's aware and on edge. Her entire posture has stiffened, metaphorical hackles raised, and she's stopped chopping up the carrots.

Eve thinks to say something reassuring but of course the booming chorus comes on again, making them both jump.

“ _Shot through the heart, and you're to blame. Darling you give lo_ -”

Villanelle jabs at the play button on her MacBook Pro.

“What a stupid song,” she grumbles, and goes to look for something new. “Bon Jovi sucks.”

**

Eve takes one bite of the Shepard's Pie and immediately stops chewing.

Villanelle frowns at her reaction. “You don't like it?”

“This tastes like Niko's,” she says disbelievingly. “Like exactly the same.”

Villanelle shrugs nonchalantly. “What can I say, I have an amazing memory for tastes. And smells. And just in general. I'm kind of a genius.”

Eve stares at her for a moment finally cluing in. “You asked him for the recipe, didn't you?”

And by asked, she assumes at knife point.

Instead of responding, Villanelle tries again, “Do you like it or not?”

“It was one of my favourites. So, yes.”

“Why are you making that face then?” says Villanelle accusingly, pointing a fork in her direction. “Like you just sniffed dog shite?”

“I never expected to eat it again.” She looks her in the eye, smiles faintly. “Brings back memories, doesn't it?”

“You mean like when I pinned you to the fridge with a kitchen knife, smelled you, and you were practically pissing yourself with pleasure?”

Eve rolls her eyes. “I wasn't enjoying myself. I was terrified.”

“You were just a little bit turned on. Admit it.”

“Fine,” she reluctantly agrees. “I was.”

Villanelle winks. “Knew it.” She leans across the unstable table. “If the mustache hadn't shown up when he did, do you think we would have fucked?”

She wants to say, of course not. Don't be ridiculous.

Instead she says, “I don't know.”

Villanelle grins at her wolfishly and goes back to wolfing down her meal. Apparently she had worked up quite the appetite today. Between her daily hour long jogs and their frequent visits to the bedroom, it was no wonder.

“Eat your green beans, Eve,” chastises Villanelle towards the end of the meal. “It's important to have a balanced diet.”

“Says the woman who ate three choc ices in a row yesterday.”

“What? The freezer was broken. You really expected me to let them go to waste?”

“You could have given me one,” she grumbles.

“And risked even worse sleep farts, no thank you.”

Eve glowers at her, which Villanelle pointedly ignores. She jabs a couple of cold green beans from Eve's plate and holds them out to her.

Eve eats the damn things and Villanelle smiles at her proudly. “Good girl.”

When they're doing dishes, Eve washing and Villanelle drying, she asks something she's been wondering for awhile.

“When did you learn to cook so well?”

When push came to shove Eve could put out an edible meal but Niko had been the real cook of the household. Almost a professional chef. It's one of the reasons why they rarely went out to dinner.

“I wasn't killing _all_ day, every day, Eve,” responds Villanelle, with an eye roll. “I had to find something else to do with my time. And I like to eat.” She finishes drying off a plate and sticking it in the rack. “Just don't ask me to bake you anything. Not again.”

“What do you mean, not again?”

Almost shyly Villanelle says, “I made you a birthday cake.”

“That was store bought, Villanelle.”

“I made you one before I sent you that. It was hideous. Tasted fine though.” She looks at Eve dreamily and Eve feels uncomfortable. “But you deserved the best on your special day. Did you enjoy it?”

She doesn't want to hurt her feelings so she smiles and lies. “It was delicious.”

Villanelle studies her in that way that probably meant she could tell something was off, and the feeling of discomfort grows. “So you liked the lemon and rosemary infused filling? I wasn't sure-”

“The filling was lovely,” she hurries to reassure.

“I knew it,” glowers Villanelle, tossing the damp cloth onto the rack in annoyance.

“What?” says Eve, confused at the sudden change of attitude.

“You're lying. You didn't even have a piece, did you?”

Eve could kick herself. Of course Villanelle had tricked her. Time for damage control.

“Okay no. I kind of threw it off the roof,” she says sheepishly.

_Way to go, dumbass._

“Seriously, Eve?” pouts Villanelle, arms crossed. “That thing was expensive.”

“Somehow I doubt your wallet suffered too much.”

It slips out before she can stop herself, and she earns another glare from Villanelle.

Bon Jovi was right.

_No one can save me. The damage is done._

She puts down the dish rag, wipes her hands dry and collects Villanelle into an awkward, unreciprocated hug. “I really appreciate the gesture. I regretted it immediately. Especially since you were the only person to give me anything.”

Villanelle softens a little. “That's really pathetic, Eve.”

Eve knows she's being mean because she's pissed off. So she doesn't retaliate in kind. She's almost positive no one has given Villanelle anything in a long time. And the main reason Villanelle enjoys celebrating birthdays and giving gifts is because she likes to live vicariously through others.

“Tell you what,” she says, releasing her hold. “I'll make it up to you for your birthday.”

Villanelle freezes, her breath even stops. “My birthday?” she parrots dumbly.

“Yeah, _you're_ birthday,” she says, lips twitching. “It's coming up pretty soon, isn't it?”

Villanelle looks absolutely flabbergasted and it's all Eve can do not to burst out laughing.

“Yeah. A few weeks from now.”

It's rare that she manages to catch her so off guard, so Eve makes sure to savour the moment before she goes in for the kill.

“Well then, I better get started planning.”

She's hardly surprised when Villanelle lifts her up onto the rickety table and proceeds to plaster her face with kisses. Things escalate in the usual manner and pretty soon they're back in bed. She's still sore from earlier in the day, and Villanelle's _present_ , so it's a fairly short lived performance this time around.

Villanelle pulls her close, spoons her possessively in a way that she has yet to tire of. For some reason she never much liked it when Niko did this. Or maybe she did in the beginning but it was so long ago now, that she's forgotten?

It's still relatively early but the excessive exuberant exertions of the day are making her weary and she begins to drift off, only to have Villanelle rouse her again with a random question. She really was like a child in that way (among others). Forever curious.

“You got into criminology and psychology. Why?”

“Why do you want to know?” she says, a little irritated at not getting to rest.

“I want to know how you figured out your passion.”

“Given up on interior design already?” she jokes.

“No...but I want to keep my options open. Assuming of course we don't die in the near future,” she jokes back. “Seriously, Eve, what drew you to those fields of study?”

As much as she wants to sleep, she knows if she doesn't answer, Villanelle will just keep annoying her until she does. She considers giving her the watered down version that she shared with casual acquaintances, and then decides against it.

“When I was a child, I witnessed a number of really gruesome deaths on the highway. A Volkswagen Minibus flipped over right in front of us. Totally out of the blue. Hit another car, ironically, a Beetle. We nearly crashed too. But we managed to pull over to the shoulder in time. My parents got out to see if they could help. Told me to stay put. Naturally I didn't listen. There was shattered glass, twisted metal and blood everywhere. And body parts. One of them was part of a torso and an arm. The hand was upright like it was waiting for a high five. I man-”

“Well did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you high five it?”

“No.”

“Seriously, Eve, you had the perfect once in a lifetime set up and you  _ didn't _ ?”

She sounds far more disgusted by her lack of follow through than the time they opened a fridge and a hoard of cockroaches crawled out.

“I didn't high five it, but I _did_ manage to touch it for a few seconds before my father pulled me away. Touching the dead, but still warm flesh gave me the weirdest sensation I had ever felt up till then. Possibly ever. I don't know how to describe it other than intense, almost overpowering exhilaration. Like a shot of electricity coursing through my entire body. Which is saying something considering I had recently been to Action Park.”

“What's that?”

“An amusement park with notoriously dangerous rides. It was really popular in the early eighties...before people started dying.”

“Wow, sometimes I forget just how old you are.” She mouths her neck and cups her breast. “You're so limber.”

“Do you want me to finish answering your question or not?”

“Sorry,” mutters Villanelle, lowering her hand back to her stomach. “Please, continue.”

“Anyway...a young woman had been driving the Minibus that flipped. They say she was high and freaked out about something only she could see. When I was older and learned to drive, I often wondered...whether she hadn't done it on purpose. Not in a suicidal way...just wanted to know what it felt like to take someone else's life. That seemed to me to be the ultimate high. And that's why I've always been so fascinated by female killers. I wanted to understand them better.” She pauses for a beat. “I wanted to understand _myself_ better.”

She lets that sit between them for a few moments before finishing with, “It's funny. In all our years of marriage, I never told Niko that. I think he didn't want to know. I think he always sensed something wasn't quite right about me...but he could never understand that darkness. So he pretended it wasn't there.”

“I was right all along. We are the same.”

When Villanelle first said that in the cafe, Eve completely rejected the notion. Now when she says it, Eve feels relief at the quiet understanding and acceptance.

“That's something I've been wondering about.”

“Hmm?”

“How can you just give it all up? Don't you need it to feel alive? To feel whole?”

If she had had a different upbringing she's not sure what she would have become. She may very well have ended up being a killer for hire too. Or something far more monstrous. But if she had gone down the dark path, and all its forbidden delights, she doesn't think she ever would've wanted to see the light again.

“I thought it was obvious.” She kisses her shoulder. “I don't need any of that anymore because I've got you.”

She smiles softly to herself, heart fluttering wildly in that way it often did around Villanelle.

She doesn't ask the other question that comes to mind.

If she hadn't turned on the bridge, what would have become of Villanelle?

Instead, she just presses even closer into her warmth and Villanelle holds her tighter, their unspoken love for one another boiling dangerously close to the surface. 

Sooner, rather than later, it would spill over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fully ignoring the fact that V was going to give the life up with or without Eve lol. And I fully know she said “we are the same” to Konstantin not Eve...but the sentiment is the same. I personally don't think she should've been such a wreck after killing Raymond...and she should've been pissed at V less because she made her kill and more because it unlocked certain dark aspects of herself that had long been buried. Anyway, they better fucking finally give us some kind of Eve backstory. There's obviously some reason why she's so drawn to Villanelle and morbid things in general. Somehow I doubt we're getting a whole solo episode next season. Off to America to see her mommy and kill her too :P
> 
> The last of us 2 is coming out soon and if I actually preorder it and get it right away...this might suddenly not have very frequent updates. Most likely I'm going to wait until I see what actual users have to say about the game, not just cherry-picked critics. (there's been controversy around it and if you don't know anything about the game, the main playable character this time around is gay and she's been given a love interest...with the best looking videogame kiss I've ever seen lol...so I hope it doesn't have to do with her dying...although I really have no clue).


	5. Chapter 5

One of her favourite pastimes is making Eve laugh. The simplest and most effective way she's found to do this is by tickling her. However, Eve doesn't seem to appreciate this too much and has 'accidentally' punched or kicked her in the face on more than one occasion. She's even managed to bruise her tit. So Villanelle has resorted to other less painful methods.

One of which involves impersonations. Eve is almost guaranteed to giggle when she puts on her heaviest Scottish accent. She can't actually speak Gaelic, but either way, Eve can't seem to understand her, which is apparently endlessly amusing. Especially when she says (or sings) all manner of ridiculous things.

Sometimes she even throws in a dance number, which in this case involves repeated high kicks in a kilt, a walking stick, and a Balmoral bonnet.

“ _Hello my ba_ _by, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal! Send me a kiss by wire, baby my hearts on fire! If you refuse me, honey you lose me, then you'll be left alone. Oh baby, telephone and tell me I'm your own_!”

It's the closest she's come to saying the words she's been dying to say for ages now. After all of their bad blood and the Rome fiasco, she's gun shy. She's afraid to (metaphorically) pull that trigger once again. Even though she's pretty sure Eve feels the same way this time around, she's not willing to risk feeling that same devastation, doubtless infinitely worse now that her emotions have been cranked up to a solid seven.

(where before, on an extremely trying day they would have been a two)

Eve falls over on the bed backwards, laughing madly at her ludicrous display, and Villanelle grins madly back, beyond pleased with the quality reaction. Top five for sure. She tosses the bonnet and stick in opposite directions across the room with an artistic flourish and flops onto the bed, her blue and red kilt partially coming undone in the process. She props herself up by the elbows, recently shaved legs in the air, idly kicking.

“So what did you think?” she asks needlessly, as Eve continues to howl, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I think...you have a...future on...Broadway, baby!”

Eve's been drinking, so Villanelle's not sure if she meant to use that term of endearment. She hasn't used any since they started...doing whatever this is. It isn't dating. They don't go out. It's more like they're an old married couple who are somehow still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship.

“You just...need to drop...that accent...and you're all...good to go!”

Of course realistically she knows that even if she had proper voice and dance lessons it would never happen. She could never seriously pursue something that public.

“Where did...you...even get that...idea?”

“Some old movie,” she replies vaguely. She doesn't want Eve to actually go looking it up and hearing what she said. “I don't remember the name.”

Eve's starting to calm down now, only the occasional burst of merriment leaking forth. She wipes the tears away. “It sounded familiar. It's going to drive me crazy. Are you sure you don't remember?”

“Sorry.” She shrugs. “Guess I've seen one too many movies.”

“Speaking of, what do you want to watch tonight?”

“How about _Legally Blonde_?”

“Again? We just watched that a few nights ago.”

“What can I say, I really relate to Elle Woods.”

“In what way? I can't believe anyone ever thought you were dumb just because you're blonde and into fashion. And if they did, you would've just killed them. The movie rights to your life would be called - she swipes her hand horizontally like she's depicting a marquee - “ _Ill_ egally Blonde.”

Eve laughs at her own dumb joke for awhile before she notices that Villanelle is not amused.

“Ah, shit, sorry,” mutters Eve. “I wasn't thinking.”

“It's fine, Eve, don't worry about it,” she says, forcing a smile. In truth, she doesn't like, or _need_ the reminder of her previous murderous ways. She has enough nightmares about them as it is. A fact Eve is well aware of.

This position is getting a bit uncomfortable so she pushes herself onto her knees and then into a cross legged pose. “And to answer your question, I too had a hard time in University. People didn't like me very much in general. And when I started to excel, they _really_ didn't like me. They excluded me from everything, and the only person who ever gave me the time of day was Anna. I have a feeling you already know all of this though...considering you went to see her.”

_Before she blew her brains out._

Eve shuffles closer, mirrors the way she's sitting so that their knees are bumping. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn't have that easy of a time at college either. It was the early nineties, in _America_ , and some weren't as accepting of people who looked different from them. Shocking I know. We kind of just formed our own little group. Safety in numbers. Not that I was ever really harassed. Well...I mean, I _was_ , but it never escalated to actual violence. I was lucky in that way. One of my friends, not so much...”

Eve trails off then, seemingly lost in the painful recollections and injustices of her youth, something Villanelle can more than relate to, albeit for different reasons.

“If I had known you then I would have beat the shit out of those racist assholes for even _looking_ at you the wrong way,” she says tersely, clenching the fabric of her family tartan tightly.

Eve comes back to herself and laughs. “I'm sure you were a terrifyingly strong baby.” She pinches her cheek at the end.

Villanelle glowers, shaking her head away. “That wasn't my _point_ , Eve.”

“I know, baby, I was just being silly,” says Eve more soberly. “It was a long time ago. I'm kind of over it.”

Villanelle _kind_ of doubts this.

Eve takes her hand and squeezes. “I appreciate the sentiment though.”

Another beat passes before she realizes the first thing Eve said.

_I know, baby..._

This time she _has_ to have meant it, right?

If Eve is going to use terms of endearment, then so is she. The only problem is that she doesn't know which one to use. Eve kind of stole hers. Using the same one is dumb. She can't use darling because that's what Anna always used and it would feel weird. Sweetie isn't really her style. Nor is honey. _Definitely_ not pumpkin. Or any food products for that matter. Ironic considering how much she likes to eat.

She could use another language. Russian is out for obvious reasons. She knows lots of French terms of endearment, but again that would feel weird after Anna. Same with Spanish. The only other language she knows that sounds remotely romantic is Italian.

She smiles to herself once she figures this out. She knows the exact word she will use for Eve now.

“What's that smile about?”

It's so dumb but for some reason her heart starts pumping faster as she prepares to break the status quo.

“Nothing, _bella_.”

Eve looks at her kind of funny. “Did you just call me beautiful?”

“Yes, because that's what you are.”

She's confident she can keep this going and make Eve swoon. Maybe even finally get to those three little words.

She opens her mouth and confidently says, “Even when your hair is a mess, your clothes look like a hobos, and you stink like one too...you're always beautiful to me.”

Bewildered beyond words, Eve just stares at her.

_What the fuck did I just say?? Idiota!_

“Sorry,” she grimaces, doing her best not to blush in embarrassment. A first for her. “It sounded a _lot_ better in my head.”

“I'll bet,” chuckles Eve, and she blushes harder. “I've never seen you so flustered before.” Eve places a hand to her rosy cheek. “It's cute.”

“You think I'm cute?” she says shyly.

“As a button,” says Eve, kissing the tip of her nose.

“Well I think you're beautiful,” she blurts stupidly.

“Yes, I think we established that,” laughs Eve once more.

Apparently her brain has turned to mush, reduced her to infant level intellect.

_Is this what normal people experience on a regular basis? If so, it sucks._

Villanelle flails around mentally, struggling to get the upper hand of her nerves and back to her usual suave persona. She's seduced countless people with her silver tongued words. This should be a cakewalk. Except, it isn't.

“What's going on with you anyway?” asks Eve curiously, studying her uncomfortably closely. “You'd think _you_ were the one drinking.”

If she's not going to be capable of stringing two words of sense together, she should really switch the focus from herself and onto that movie they were supposed to be watching.

Instead she decides to just come right out and say it. No more games. Just the cold, hard truth. She takes both of Eve's hands with her sweaty ones and gets a very earnest and serious look in her suddenly watery eyes. She can already feel that her voice will quaver.

“Eve...I-”

And there it was again. That flash of panic on Eve's face. And just as suddenly all of her courage dies. If Eve isn't ready to hear this, then she _definitely_ isn't ready to reciprocate. And Villanelle can't deal with a one sided confession again. Granted, Eve was right back then. She really _hadn't_ understood what love was. But now she did, and dammit, she was tired of not being able to express it to her newfound full potential.

Frustrated with both herself and Eve, she pulls away from her and goes over to the table and the half empty bottle of red wine. Rather than pour a glass, she just takes a healthy swig right from the bottle. If she anesthetized herself sufficiently enough and Eve rejected her again, maybe it wouldn't be so bad?

One way or another it was happening tonight. She couldn't stand this anymore, she was crawling out of her skin.

Eve watches from her place on the bed as she takes several more gulps, then comes over, clearly agitated. She grabs a hold of the bottle and stops her from taking another drink.

“Stop that. This isn't you.”

They both know she isn't much of a drinker and only occasionally imbibes, preferring to keep a clear head and some of her inherent craziness in check.

“Maybe I don't want to be me right now.”

She tries to tug the bottle away, but Eve holds firm and refuses to give her another drop.

“Give it to me,” she says waspishly and shoots Eve what she thinks is her most intimidating look, the kind of look that used to bring grown men to their knees in fear.

Infuriatingly, Eve remains completely unfazed. “No.”

And so begins an increasingly aggressive but ultimately futile tug of war. Eve really was surprisingly strong when motivated, not unlike on the bus.

“I'll get you another bottle tomorrow,” she grunts.

“Do you _seriously_ think that's what I care about right now?”

“I have no clue what you _care_ about, Eve,” she replies bitterly.

“God, you're so... _stupid_ sometimes.”

“ _I'm_ stupid,” she says incredulously. “You're the stupid one!”

If the bottle was fuller it surely would've started sloshing out, ruining her newly acquired Scottish get up. Not that she would've even noticed, so intent on getting the upper hand was she, old, unforgivingly competitive habits coming out to play. Only that small voice in the back of her mind, long dormant, was keeping her fist at bay.

“Real mature.”

“You said it first!”

“Only because you're being a moron!”

“Only because you're making me one! I just want to say how I feel but you won't let me!”

“Like I can _stop_ you from talking! If it's so important to you, then speak!”

“Okay then I will! I'm going to say it now, Eve! And if you don't like it, well, that's too bad!”

She takes a deep breath, prepares herself and-

“I love you, you idiot!” exclaims Eve, beating her to the punch. “There, you happy now?”

The euphoria those words bring her is very short lived, quickly replaced by even greater vexation.

“No, I'm _not_ happy now! You can't just say it first! Not after tormenting me for so long!”

“Oh my God, you're _so_ dramatic! I didn't _torment_ you! I didn't do anything!”

“That's exactly my point!”

“What is?!”

“I don't know!”

“Why are we still yelling at each other?!”

“I don't know!!”

Their two shared brain cells have them simultaneously dropping the bottle onto the gritty floor, unbroken, yet still spilling its contents; an overdone metaphor for the blood that was nearly shed. The next instant they're in each others arms, kissing wildly like there's no tomorrow. A reference to a book she recently read.

Various objects, most notably the single working lamp and light source in the room, gets knocked over in their mad quest to reaffirm their relationship. Plunged into near pitch black darkness, they abruptly come to their senses, albeit with several articles of clothing askew.

In an incredibly cliched and gay way, Villanelle places her forehead to Eve's, and in the stillness, breathlessly says, “Just so we're clear...ti amo **.** Sei il amore della mia vita. Ti voglio sempre al mio fianco. Voglio invecchiare con te.”

“How is _that_ clear?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V said, “I love you. You are the love of my life. I always want you by my side. I want to grow old with you.”
> 
> They were pretty much wearing clothes throughout this entire chapter. What utter nonsense.
> 
> The movie V was parodying was itself a parody. It's called Spaceballs lol
> 
> Thankfully she doesn't speak Russian in the show because in the books she does and baby in Russian is pupsik which always just made me think of pupae for some reason, rather than puppy like a normal person :P
> 
> Random question: Is V a natural blonde or brunette?
> 
> So I was a bad girl and preordered the game after all...and somehow I've already received it...so what I'm saying is I might not have an update for y'all next week.


	6. Chapter 6

Once the movie is set up on her laptop, Eve cuddles into her like always.

Villanelle can honestly say that she's happy. Genuinely happy.

For the first time in her life.

And if life were fair this would probably be the end of the story. They'd find a nice place to _really_ settle down in, as if they weren't already a cliché. They'd go on frequent shopping trips where she finally got to dress Eve the way she's been wanting to since practically the first time she set eyes on her. They'd get new jobs, hers would probably be something creative since she's always excelled at that stuff – whether it was a flair for artistic murders or designing the ideal alias. Maybe she'd be a food stylist or a perfumer. Eve's job would be something more managerial because she was good at bossing people around and getting her way. Maybe she'd be an exec of a publishing firm that specialized in true crime novels.

Every Friday or Saturday night would be date night and they'd go out to a new up and coming restaurant with mouth watering food, and always get the best table and service because she will have amazing connections since she is simply amazing; and then they'll head over to the nearest club and dance the rest of the night away. Once a month they'd try a completely new activity, something neither of them had done before, and Eve would hate every moment of it, until she didn't, and then she'd thank her for continuously pushing her out of her comfort zone in her old age. Eve would sprout her first grey hairs and freak out about it in her typical way, or otherwise try to cover it up, and she would tell her not to worry, to leave it the way it is because it adds character and makes her even sexier.

If life were fair she would fear for the inevitable decline, either of their relationship or Eve's health. She'd resign herself to having to bury her one day, in front of all their newfound work friends, most of whom they won't like, but will enjoy bitching about behind their backs like normal people do. Instead of killing them. She'd resign herself to being alone again, like she had been for most of her life, whether or not she was surrounded by people. She'd half-heartedly attempt to date and never be satisfied by the offerings, all pale reflections of her soulmate. She'd grow sadder and sadder by the year until she finally couldn't take it anymore and bit the bullet, knowing full well she probably would never see her again.

But life isn't fair, and out of the two of them, she's the most likely to kick it first.

You reap what you sow.

Perhaps if she had played ball a little more often, not pissed The Twelve off so much, she would've been allowed to retire peacefully the way she almost believed she had been allowed to after Rome. Of course they hadn't let her go. Long before Dasha ever made an appearance, she was aware of that. Practically every time she stepped foot outside back then she could sense their presence.

Granted, she hasn't felt their presence since, but that doesn't mean they weren't there.

It's almost like since her emotions got cranked way up, her killer senses got turned way down, and the minuscule tells and things that normally kept her on top and in control of most situations have now blurred, faded into the background. It's like her all consuming love for Eve has taken up that deadly space, made her weak like Konstantin and Dasha said it would, and now they are vulnerable to an ambush. The Twelve could disguise themselves as literally anyone. Not unlike Mr. Smith in The Matrix.

She never thought of herself as a paranoid person. Eve has made her paranoid. Not her words. Her presence. The fear of losing her. Of her being taken while she's away. Held as bait to draw her out. She would be helpless, like a moth to the flame. Burned to a crisp before she ever even made it to her heart's desire.

Even if they had an army of soldiers at their disposal she doesn't think they could defeat them. They were insidious and had infiltrated every aspect of society and the political realm. They were like the mythical Hydra. Cut off one head, another took its place. It was an impossible task for mere mortals. But at the same time, if they didn't figure out how to get rid of them, she would never be safe, and neither would Eve, simply by association. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place, perpetually in limbo. She didn't have some miraculous trump card she had been waiting to play when the moment was right.

She didn't have anything anymore. Nothing except for Eve.

“Earth to Villanelle,” says Eve poking her in the side.

She blinks back to the present and finds that they are about ten minutes into the movie, which is now paused.

“How could you tell I wasn't paying attention?” 

“You mean besides your lack of colourful commentary? You let me steal your popcorn.” 

Villanelle looks to see that it's true. There's a sizable dent in her scrumptious salted caramel popcorn, the extra sticky kind that Eve always claims she shouldn't eat since it's bad for her fillings, and then she tries to do it anyway. Like the goddamned proverbial fries she's seen in countless films.

“Where did you go?”

She doesn't really want to talk about this right now. Not on the same night of their love confessions. She wants to hold onto this foreign feeling a little longer. She scrambles for something else to say.

“When you kissed me on the bus...was that just a tactic to distract me or did you actually want to?”

Doubtless their near physical fight brings this to the forefront of her mind.

Eve stares at her strangely, clearly able to tell this wasn't what was distracting her. Eve had always been good at reading her tells, seeing beyond the bullshit, and now that they were practically joined at the hip, it was almost impossible to get away with anything, emotionally speaking. She still messed with her plenty in other ways.

Nevertheless, Eve obliges. “Uh...I honestly don't know what I was thinking. I was kind of out of my head.”

“No shit,” she chuckles, relieved that Eve took the bait. “I've been meaning to compliment you on your right hook. You're stronger than you look.”

She rubs at her face absentmindedly, as if she can still feel the sting of the brutal blow that nearly broke her nose.

“Please, you were barely phased,” scoffs Eve, rolling her eyes.

“Only because I've been hit many, many times before by much larger people and I'm used to it,” she shrugs, as if it's a totally normal thing to say. Mostly this happened during her training days, when she was pitted against skilled adversaries who showed no mercy. Though the prison guards had roughed her up plenty too.

That statement gives Eve pause, a guilty look clouding her features. “Oh, baby...I'm sorry I attacked you,” she says, gingerly cupping the side of her face, as if she expects to find it tender and bruised.

“I'm not,” she says sincerely, laying a hand over hers. “We wouldn't be here if you hadn't gotten that out of your system.” She takes Eve's hand from her face and kisses the knuckles one by one. “And it's good to know that you're capable of defending yourself. You just need a little direction to control that unholy fury of yours.”

“So what are you saying? You want to train me? In case The Twelve find us?...”

_Fuck. How did my stupid brain make us cycle back to that??_

“...I'm not really sure it would make a difference. I'm just one middle aged lady and-”

“You're _way_ more than that, Eve. Don't sell yourself short,” she cuts in unintentionally harshly. Noticing Eve's taken aback expression, she chills out a bit and continues, “You could be an incredible adversary if you learned the right fighting techniques. And how to use a gun. Mostly the gun thing really.” And because she doesn't like this particular conversation she tries to make a joke. “Hopefully your aim is a lot better than your throw. You know, like when you tossed me the passport in Russia and it was a total fail?”

Eve scowls. “That doesn't count. That was a really stressful situation. I'm a great throw normally. I _am_ ,” she says adamantly.

Based on all the times she's tossed things to Eve and she hasn't caught them, she doubts this is true. Eve's hand eye coordination was definitely not up to assassin level. Or T-ball level really.

“I didn't say anything.”

“But you were thinking it,” glares Eve.

She tries to salvage the mess she's made. “I think we've gotten off track.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Rather than take the blame, she squeezes Eve's hand and says, “I'd feel a lot better if you let me do this. And I think you would too.”

Eve hadn't complained about not being allowed out of the 'house' without her guardian 'angel', but Villanelle could tell that she was growing more and more resentful every day at completely losing her independence. If nothing else, their love making had gotten progressively rougher. 

“Okay then. We'll start tomorrow.” Eve kisses her and adds, “And to answer your initial question, if I had to guess, it was probably a bit of both.”

When she pulls back from the kiss fully, it's with another huge handful of popcorn, leaving very little for herself.

“ _Eve_!!”

**

Eve in the shabby local gun range is simultaneously the sexiest thing she's ever seen, and the most terrifying.

The sexiest because a) she's holding a gun, and any woman who held a gun is automatically hot in her opinion. And b) she's dressed all in black, form fitting pants and turtleneck in place, no frumpy hobo chic in sight.

The most terrifying because she has abysmal aim and frequently gets frustrated and waves the gun around wildly, to the chagrin of both herself and the beefy guy who owns this podunk place. 

“For the last time, ma'am,” yells Charlie warily, “I'm going to need you to keep your finger off the trigger whenever you're not aiming at the targets!”

_Depends what he means by targets._

Technically, they both were. And the sheep just out of sight.

She wouldn't mind some lamb for dinner.

“My finger is nowhere _near_ the trigger,” grumbles Eve, lowering her gun arm once again to a relatively non-lethal level, her finger still very much on the trigger. She pulls the hearing protectors off shortly thereafter, and Villanelle and Charlie follow suit.

Villanelle hazards speaking up once more. “Do you want me to show-”

Eve throws her a nasty look. “No, I _don't_ want you to rub it in my face how bad I am!”

Villanelle looks to Charlie and says, “Do you think you could give us a minute?”

He seems both very hesitant to leave them alone and extremely relieved to get out of the vicinity. He gives her a look as if to say, 'it's your funeral', and soon it's just the two of them.

“Eve, you need to re-”

“Don't tell me to relax!” snaps Eve, body rigid with fury. “Why did we _come_ here, Villanelle? I thought you said _you_ were going to train me yourself?”

“Where exactly would I have done that inconspicuously around these parts?” she fires back, gesturing with wide arms. “And somehow I don't think you would have wanted to trek into the forest in _March_.” She knows she's playing with fire when she adds, “Do you think it's _possible_ that maybe you are PMSing?”

Eve hits her with a look that could pierce through body armour, something she wishes she was wearing right about now. By her count there were still two shots left in the pistol.

“I can't _believe_ you just said that! Just because I'm _angry_ does _not_ mean I have my period! It's not even my time!”

She swallows nervously. “ _I'm_ due pretty soon, so maybe you-”

“We have _not_ been living together _nearly_ long enough to sync up, Villanelle.”

Yikes, _two_ Villanelle's in the span of a minute. She really was in deep shite.

“Then why are you so mad?”

Eve shoots another nasty look her way, then over her shoulder, where Villanelle can only assume Charlie is cowering in fear.

Something clicks into place then like a well oiled magazine. She smiles despite the situation. “Really, Eve? You're jealous again?”

There's no vicious dismissal of this theory, so she knows she's hit the jackpot. She quickly closes the distance between them, cups Eve's face and kisses her long and deep, in full view of Charlie.

When they had first shown up here, she couldn't help herself and had shown off for Eve, practically obliterating every single target, an impressive feat that had caused Charlie to openly hit on her until she informed him that Eve was her girlfriend. He still didn't seem too convinced of this fact and had continued to stare at her in a less than professional way throughout Eve's dry runs. Something Eve had apparently noticed. Which explained why she was so distracted during the live ammunition stage. All things considered, Charlie was lucky to still be alive. They both were.

During this Hollywood style kiss, she manages to disarm Eve in more ways than one.

“I literally told you I loved you last night. You have nothing to be insecure about. Now or ever.” She caresses her cheek. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish you would believe me when I tell you how beautiful I think you are, how stunning your body is, how sharp your mind. I wish you could see inside of me, to the heart of me, and witness firsthand what your presence does to me on a daily basis. Your love has healed me, Eve, made me whole, in a way I never thought possible. I'll forever be grateful. No one else could ever make me feel the way I feel about you now.”

Speechless for several moments, Eve simply gapes at that outpouring of poetic feeling.

_Where the fuck was it when I needed it last night??_

Then Eve pulls a classic Villanelle move. “What cheesy movie did you pick _that_ up from?”

“I don't steal  _ all _ of my material, Eve,” she says rolling her eyes, kind of annoyed that Eve is making a joke at this particular juncture. “Give me  _ some _ credit.”

_ Eve must be annoyed with me most of the time then...  _

A moments thought passes and she sheepishly adds, “The last line  _ might _ be paraphrased from an Oasis song though. Unintentionally!”

“Sure it was.”

“I swear!”

“Okay, I believe you.”

She places a hand to hip, gives a stern look like she's about to chastise a child. “Seriously, Eve, you are starting to piss me off. And I'm the one with the gun now.”

_ Fuck, I so did not mean to say that last part!! _

A darkness she hasn't ever seen on Eve before clouds her features and Villanelle prays for shelter from the coming storm.

“If you  _ ever _ try to shoot me again, Villanelle, I'll kill you.”

Villanelle gulps and unconsciously takes several steps back.

“Like you'd even have a chance,” she chuckles nervously. “Even with a heat seeking missile you'd miss me!” Eve looks about ready to pounce and rip out her jugular, so she quickly continues, “Anyway, I think we've gotten off track again. Do you want to give this another go? Or do you want to just go?”

After mulling it over for a bit, Eve reaches a decision, steely and hot determination in her expression. “I need to learn how to do this. For  _ both _ our sakes.”

Thankful she dodged a bullet, a shower of bullets really, Villanelle positions herself before the very much intact targets, then holds out a hand.

“Okay then, bella, come here and let's try again. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after that they did the trope thing. You know the one. 
> 
> I loled when I found out the name for someone who makes/smells perfumes is just perfumer. I was expecting something a little more...sophisticated. However, the best ones are called Noses...so I think that makes up for it. xD
> 
> After 'Bill' is killed in the books, she gets some weapons training and carries a gun around with her. It's kind of weird they didn't do that in the show too...but there's still time to fix it!
> 
> This game is...interesting. So...interesting that I think I need a break from it, which is good news for y'all I guess lol


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I giggled more writing this chapter than I have the entire fic so far. So...you're welcome.

She's in the middle of a lovely dream about shooting Bon Jovi in the heart when a sudden loud noise startles her awake. Immediately alert, senses heightened, she looks to her left to find the bed empty.

A quick scan of the room tells her that Eve is gone.

Panicking, Villanelle grabs the Glock 17 from under her pillow, then launches herself straight out the door, shoeless but fully clad in her _Hello Kitty_ onesie.

The gun is instantly levelled at the sleek rider of the equally sleek motorbike. Not exactly the type of vehicle she would've expected The Twelve to use to kidnap Eve with, or really _anyone_ for that matter.

“I'd really rather you didn't do that,” comes the cool and unconcerned voice. “This jacket was expensive.”

“Eve, what the _hell_ were you thinking?!” she chastises, dropping her now shaking gun arm. “I could have shot you!! I almost did! This was _so_ stupid!! I don't _understand_ why you would do something _so stupid_!!”

Ranting goes on unabated while the idling bike gets turned off, the kickstand lowered, and the helmet removed. It continues on until Eve gets off the bike and faces her, at which point Villanelle's jaw literally drops, like a dumb cartoon character.

She's wearing biker boots, sinfully tight pants, riding gloves, and a stylish V-cut biker jacket. All classic black. The hair tie comes off next and it's quickly poofed to its full, glorious potential. The final touch is a pair of vintage cat eye sunglasses, hardly necessary in the early morning's light, but definitely not unappreciated.

All in all she kind of resembles Sandy from _Grease_ , a lame musical they had watched about two weeks ago, with thirty year old teenagers and rather questionable morals.

Even so, she had found Sandy's transformation at the end hot, and apparently Eve had been taking notes.

“Cat got your tongue?” smiles Eve, as she slowly and hypnotically approaches, clearly pleased as punch with her reaction.

Somehow she manages to squeak out a response. “What are you doing, Eve?” She clears her throat so she doesn't sound like a fucking mouse that's about to be devoured, and gestures up and down to her getup. “What is this? Did you get cabin fever?”

In answer, Eve pulls her into a lingering kiss (despite her morning breath). “Happy birthday, baby.”

“But it's not my birthday,” she answers eventually, wondering if perhaps she is still dreaming. The fact that Eve appears to be wearing the Power scent all but confirms this. Or maybe _she's_ the one with cabin fever? “You're two days early.”

“This was the only way I could surprise you.”

Rather than get angry all over again, she says, “Mission accomplished.”

It's early April and her feet are fucking freezing on the stone entrance way, a fact she has just realized. She heads back inside and gets instant relief from the ugly but warm shag carpet.

Eve lingers in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame. The consummate picture of cool.

“It took longer than I thought it would to get the bike. We're going to be late.”

“Late for what?” she asks, curiousity peaked. It's starting to dawn on her that this is in fact real life and today she is going to have a birthday outing of some sort with her hot as fuck girlfriend. “Where are we going?”

Eve smiles again at the sudden eagerness in her voice. “Patience, baby, you'll see. Hurry up and get dressed. And make sure to wear something warm,” - here she looks directly at her chest - “it's a bit nippy out.”

Ever since they had started her training in earnest - which she was both surprisingly and unsurprisingly excelling at - Eve had been a different person. Not in a bad way exactly. She was just often...unwaveringly confident in a way that she usually only was in the bedroom when her higher brain functions were turned off and she didn't have the presence of mind to get self-conscious or otherwise put her foot in her mouth. In some ways it was almost like they had switched personas, not unlike in the movie. Or like they were a couple who has been dating a long time and shares each others clothes. They share each others skins.

She goes over to her suitcase and pops it open. The selection is rather limited, at least compared to what she used to wear, but there were still a couple of sexy outfits she could put together at a moments notice. She had become the queen of mixing and matching, the mere thought of which used to make her gag.

“What specifically should I wear?”

“Anything that allows for full movement.”

Villanelle looks at her tight tight pants and raises her eyebrows.

“Don't worry about me. I've got this.” Very seriously Eve says, “Unless of course you don't like this outfit?” She starts to unzip the jacket. “I could put something el-”

“NOOO!” she blurts obnoxiously loudly like a total moron falling for the obvious bait. A fact confirmed by Eve's smirk.

Fuck, they really had switched places. Did this mean she was John Travolta?

The idea is frankly revolting. She vows to herself right then and there to get her shit together and stop being such a flustered mess. It's just...Eve has never intentionally dressed sexy _for_ her, and apparently her dumb gay brain doesn't know how to cope.

“Where did you even get that?” she asks calmly as she searches her suitcase.

“Went shopping yesterday when you were out jogging.”

Villanelle glances up and glares at the betrayal. “You went _clothes_ shopping _without_ me?”

She had only been trying to get Eve to do this literally the entire time they'd been on the lam. Predictably, Eve had been far too practical and level headed to waste their limited resources on frivolous things – like hair dye. A concern she no longer seemed to hold.

Eve observes her, unperturbed. “I thought you'd be more mad about me going _out_ without you.”

Oh shit, she's right.

“How many times have you done that, Eve?” she wonders aloud, getting agitated all over again. “At least twice if you count the bike this morning.” When Eve doesn't appear to be forthcoming with an answer she continues, “You _know_ how dangerous it is to be out by yourself. If I'm not there to protect you then-”

“I can protect myself.”

Frustrated as fuck with her cavalier attitude, she punches the clothes and hits her fist against a hidden belt buckle.

“No, you can't,” she grits out, knuckles stinging. “Yes, you've grasped the _basics,_ but you're still not nearly at the level you'd need to be to actually _defend_ yourself against a trained assassin. Let alone _win_.”

“I beat _you_ , didn't I?”

“Only because I _let_ you.”

For the first time Eve seems a little unsure about things. “You're lying. You just don't want to admit that the rookie bested you. I beat you fair and square.”

“No, you _didn't_. I let you win because you were having a really bad day and I wanted you to feel better.”

“Okay then, let's go again, right now,” says Eve, removing her glasses, pushing off the door frame. She squares off with Villanelle across the bed, steel in her gaze. “Find out once and for all who's better.”

“You can't be serious. I'm not going to fight you.”

_Not in my fucking onesie!!_

“Why not? Afraid to lose again?”

“What I am is _pissed off_ because it's my _birthday_ and you're _ruining_ it by being an _arsehole!_ ”

Finally, her raised voice and the near tears in her eyes seems to get through Eve's thickheaded douchery.

“Fuck, I'm so sorry, baby,” apologizes Eve, hurrying over to give her a hug, which she begrudgingly accepts, half expecting Eve to use this opportunity to get the better of her. She was sneaky like that. “Today's not about me.”

“No shit.”

“You really do need to hurry or we're going to miss it.”

“Miss _what_??”

“Just get dressed,” says Eve, infuriatingly. Then she smacks her tush on the way outside again.

Villanelle collects her wits for the fifth time that morning and finally selects an outfit, not from the suitcase after all, but from the sparse rack. A classically cut suit. Sparkling white - a counterpoint to Eve. They'll really pop together wherever they're going. As much as she wants to do up her ugly naturally brown hair to reduce visibility, she knows it won't fit properly in the helmet and will be uncomfortable. And they could be driving for hours before they reach their destination.

Satisfied enough with how she looks, she grabs some mints and heads out the door, to find Eve leaning against the bike, looking bored. Villanelle's almost surprised she isn't smoking too.

Eve gazes at her and she prepares to be flattered by the compliment.

“Oooh, I wouldn't have gone for that colour.”

Huffing indignantly she says, “Fine then. I'll change.”

She can't believe that Eve, _Eve_ , is insulting her fashion sense. On her fake birthday no less!!

“No time. There's always dry cleaning.”

She stomps her now sneaker clad foot in annoyance. “ _What_ are we doing?!”

“Hop on and find out.”

Eve swings a leg over the bike, gets settled. Then she tosses a helmet her way, her aim remarkably improved.

“Do you actually know how to ride?” she says, putting it on...and then hesitating to _get_ on.

The handful of times Eve drove the cars, it was somewhat of an experience. Not that she was an Asian stereotype and terrible...just that she took great insult at every perceived slight and _sometimes_ drove a little erratically to make a point. Probably because she grew up in America.

Due to the frequent incarcerations, she herself didn't learn how to drive until later on in life, so if anything she was the type of perpetually bad driver that Eve would hate to be around. But she at least never had road rage. Surprisingly. She supposes killing people often helps to quell that.

Nothing could prepare her for the answer she is about to receive. Her soul ascends.

“I was part of a biker gang in my early twenties.”

What. The. Fuck.

“You're kidding, right?”

Incredibly, Eve shakes her head. “I had a bit of a bad girl phase in college.” She chuckles. “If my parents had known they would've disowned me.” Lovingly, she runs her gloved hands up and down the chrome handlebars. “Haven't been on one in over twenty years but it feels like yesterday.”

“I've never been more attracted to you than I am right now.”

“You say that _literally_ everyday.”

“Because it's _true_ everyday.”

“Well, anyway, are you getting on or not?”

Eager once more, she slides behind Eve, circles her tiny waist tight and rests her head on her shoulder. Today was going to be a good day. She could feel it in her (now rumbling) buttocks.

Before they take off Eve says, “Oh and by the way, you weren't about to shoot me. You forgot to take the safety off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle is a very good ex-assassin and Eve has VERY good distance sight. Just go with it.
> 
> So this concept has gotten wildly out of hand and has now morphed into a multi-part chapter. At least four parts. And it's all because of a random convo I had on a different fic about the lack of motorcycle in season two and three lmao.
> 
> You can thank my babysitter for the Grease references. She would play it EVERYTIME. Looking back, there was probably a good (gay) reason I was okay with that lol.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this part made me cry with laughter.

After that pantie wetting introduction to the day, the last place she expects to end up is a fucking petting zoo.

The place doesn't even seem to be open yet, which is honestly a relief. Eve looks over her shoulder when she doesn't follow.

“Are you coming?”

“Are you serious?” She hates that her stupid voice betrays her and quavers. “I can't _believe_ you brought me here, Eve. Not after what I told you.”

_In confidence._

“That's _exactly_ why I did.”

“Maybe you're new to the concept of birthday planning, but generally speaking, your goal isn't to _torture_ the birthday girl.”

She of course was an expert on the whole affair, having planned others numerous times. She knows for a fact that she would have given Eve an amazing day if she had ever let her. Not put her through the seven levels of hell.

Eve comes back to where she is rooted to the spot in fear and puts a hand to her shoulder. She might have taken her hand but one was currently wrapped around the bike helmet and the other was jammed in her pocket.

“I'll be right beside you the whole time. You'll be perfectly safe.”

“You don't know that. What if one of them lunges at me?”

“I've been assured this particular one is very docile. And if not, I'll beat the shit out of the owner.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She takes a deep breath, tries and fails to quell her nerves. “Okay. Let's do this.”

Hand in sweaty hand, they push through the flaps of the makeshift tent and into the stench of farmyard life. Several sets of beady demon eyes land on her and follow as they make their way to the back, where they apparently were having a private showing.

_Great. So I will have its undivided attention._

The owner greets Eve like they have met before, albeit with raised eyebrow at her attire, and then looks to her. The not unattractive fifty something year old woman with the streak of grey hair, named Jean, seems slightly surprised to find that she is not a little Asian kid.

“And you must be Danny.” 

Jean warmly shakes her hand and Villanelle does her best not to roll her eyes at the name Eve gave her. The one John Travolta had in _Grease_.

“Clarissa is just over here,” continues Jean, leading them to a nearby enclosure.

Villanelle comes to an abrupt stop before they fully get there.

_Oh, God, there are three of them!_

“I thought you said there was only one?” she glares accusingly at Eve, who studiously ignores her.

“Unfortunately, they're a package deal,” informs Jean calmly. “Separating them at this early stage would cause problems. As long as they remain together, Clarissa will be docile as a lamb.”

Villanelle swallows nervously. “But I thought animals got _more_ aggressive when they had babies?”

She eyes the little fuckers as one curiously stares up at her, head poking through the fence. The other one is sleeping on top of the mother, presumably Clarissa, who is also not awake.

“I think you're thinking of bears,” says Eve, unhelpfully.

“Just try to keep calm and don't make too many sudden movements,” says Jean. “The little ones are easily excited.”

_Keep calm, right. That's exactly what I'll do._

Eve holds out her hand again and she begrudgingly takes it, squeezing tighter and tighter as they approach her doom.

The second they get close enough to touch, the one that had been watching her tries to headbutt her leg and she jerks back to safety.

“Did you see that?!” she demands of Eve, now somewhat hysterical. “I _told_ you these things hate me! But you didn't believe me!”

“They don't hate you,” assures Jean. “Jonny was just trying to say hello. I think he likes you.”

Yeah right.

She's made such a ruckus that the other two have now woken and the second little fucker comes bounding over as well, joining his devil brother.

Fuck this. She was out of here.

Except Eve has a firm grasp of her hand still and won't let her run off.

“Eve, you better let go of me or I'll grant your wish from earlier this morning.”

She says this so ominously that Jean eyes them warily, clearly wondering what the hell she's gotten herself into in agreeing to this whole odd exchange.

“You need to face your fears,” says Eve, cool as a cucumber. “Isn't that why you so helpfully put a spider on my face while I was sleeping?”

Is that what this was all about? Payback for her little bit of fun?

“That was different.”

“How?”

“A spider never chomped on your face!” she yells. 

“Well, then, just don't put your _face_ near their _teeth_.”

“Like I could _help_ that, Eve! I was _five_!”

“I don't think there's too much concern that will happen _this_ time. Considering they're _way_ down there.”

The little fuckers blink up at her innocently, trying to lull her into a false sense of security. Just like the last time. Clarissa doesn't seem to give a shit about what's going on and is simply trying to get back to sleep.

“Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all,” begins Jean, hesitantly. “Maybe you should come back another time? I will of course refund you completely.”

Disregarding her completely, Eve tries to drag her closer again and she digs her heels into the dirt.

“You can't make me!”

“You're being a baby!”

“You're being a bitch!”

“Okay, now, girls,” tries Jean again, “there's no need for such language. I'm sure if we all just take a second to calm-”

“Fuck off, Jean!” they say in unison.

Jean gives them an extremely affronted look and then storms off, probably to go call the police or something.

Realizing that their time is now limited, Eve invokes the strength of the Gods, and with Herculean effort, yanks her so hard forward that she pitches completely over the fence and into the enclosure. Which in Villanelle's mind was about the same thing as being tossed into shark infested waters.

In the hay now, she finds herself face to face with Clarissa, a deadly Great White, and Villanelle nearly pisses herself in terror. Before she can pull out her gun and shoot her in the face, the demon siblings attack.

“AAAAHHH!” she screams in horror, like she did when she thought the old lady at that freaks house was actually a ghost. 

She's expecting to feel the vicious sting of steel like mandibles enclosing on her flesh any second now. Instead she feels something much softer. Was that a tongue?

Hazarding a peep through fingertips, she finds the two baby llama's eagerly lapping at the skin of her hands, which are currently protecting her face. 

She's not going to fall for it though. They're simply trying to trick her. They probably need to soften her up first before they take a bite.

“Jean was right,” says Eve. “They really do like you.”

“They do _not_ like me, Eve. Just you wait. Any second now they're going to chow down. You better still love me once I'm hideously disfigured!”

“Oh my God, you're so dramatic,” replies Eve, for the millionth time. “They're not going to maim you. They're just trying to get your attention. They probably think you're one of them and want to play or something.”

She _was_ dressed the same colour...so it _was_ conceivable.

Several more beats pass and nothing but the relatively soft tongues of the llama's have made contact. 

Beginning to doubt herself, she says, “You think?”

“If I'm wrong, I'll come in there myself and save you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Pulse pounding, she nevertheless takes one of her hands away, and when they don't try to blind her, she removes the other.

The tongues now on her face kind of tickle, and she almost laughs but doesn't want to give Eve the satisfaction, so instead she pushes herself into a sitting position, legs crossed. The slightly bigger llama with the black eye, Jonny, takes the opportunity to hop into her lap. The runtier one with the black ear, hangs back a bit and watches. Clarissa is now chewing on some hay, apparently impervious to being startled.

Jonny settles in fully, resting his head on her thigh. Then he nudges her hand repeatedly with his little wet nose.

“I think he wants you to pet him,” says Eve.

Hand shaking, Villanelle does so, and Jonny makes a funny little sound, like maybe he's happy.

She realizes then that she's smiling and quickly stops but it's too late, Eve has noticed and decides to comment.

“See? I told you it wouldn't be the end of the world.”

Jonny's brother gets jealous of the attention and tries to shove him off of her lap.

“Now, boys, there's no need for violence,” she tells them in a motherly fashion. “Women aren't possessions to be won. They're precious things that should be cherished always. And they certainly don't appreciate it when men fight over them.”

Eve snorts at that. “Clearly you haven't met my Aunt Lydia.”

Pretty soon both of her hands are occupied with incredibly soft baby llama fur, one hand on each brother. And she definitely doesn't hate this. She might even like this. She might even want to spend the next couple of hours here.

Unfortunately it's not to be because Jean has returned with reinforcements. 

As it turns out, not the police, but rather her burly looking sons.

“Please get out of there,” says Jean tersely, a prominent vein in her forehead throbbing.

Villanelle's pretty sure she can take them. She has a gun after all. And she _really_ doesn't want to leave just when she's starting to like this. But shooting them, or at least shooting _around_ them, will cause the actual police to show up, and consequently draw unwanted attention to themselves. Which is kind of the opposite of what they're going for these days. Besides, she'd probably horribly startle the nice llama family, even Clarissa, and they'd finally remember that she's their mortal enemy and attack without mercy.

“Actually, I think she can stay right where she is,” says Eve in a very sexy and authoritative tone. “I think I _more_ than compensated you for our time.”

Jean looks about ready to combust and Villanelle _feels_ ready to combust.

“Oh, very well. Five more minutes.” 

**

With a mournful sigh, Villanelle picks Jonny up, puts him aside, and then hoists herself out of the enclosure. He makes some baleful noises, which she refuses to acknowledge with so much as a glance back. It's too painful.

Before final departure, Jean gives them both a withering look, especially Eve, like she expected better behaviour from someone her age.

“Please feel free to never come back.”

They share a look a few seconds after exiting the tent and burst into laughter. Villanelle mocks her overly polite manner and posh accent all the way back to the bike, which just causes Eve to cackle harder.

She pulls Eve into a one armed hug then. “Thank you for that. I'm sorry I was being so difficult.”

She's honestly elated at finally putting that embarrassing childhood trauma behind her.

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. It was a pretty big gamble.”

“Well, it paid off.” Villanelle relaxes the embrace. “Where to next?”

“There's a haunted house just around the corner. I've booked us for the next hour.”

The corners of Eve's lips are twitching.

Villanelle narrows her eyes. “I can tell you're joking, but _don't_ push your luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's this idea that animals hate psychopaths because they can sense something is off with them, like little kids. Which maybe explains why V never interacts with them on the show. And maybe would explain why a mean llama would bite her face as a child. Or maybe V was just doing something to piss it off. We'll never know.
> 
> Originally this was going to be a pony riding session which potentially morphed into a horse ride outing (which Eve would be good at from learning as a young adult) and V would be terrible at so they'd HAVE to share a horse too...but for some reason I didn't do that and I honestly can't remember why now :P It might have had something to do with me not wanting to steal this directly from the game I was playing at the time but who knows? Certainly not me...


	9. Chapter 9

Laser tag turns out to be a lot less lame than she expects.

It's actually kind of fun. Especially because it's just the two of them 'duking' it out around the obstacles in the gloom of the neon glow.

Villanelle's not sure how Eve managed to get a private time slot for this as well before the place officially opened, but she's not mad about it. She doesn't think she'd be enjoying herself nearly as much if there were a bunch of snotty nosed brats getting in her way.

Sneaking around in the relative dark, chasing after Eve, is making her nostalgic for the good old days when they first started the whole cat and mouse thing. When she was excelling at her work, The Twelve didn't want her dead, and she had everything in the world she ever thought she wanted.

She doesn't miss that life, not exactly, more she's a little wistful for the time when she didn't have to worry about financial matters in the least. They were running low on funds, and after today, well, she doesn't know if there's going to be _anything_ left. While they _could_ visit one of her money caches, there was always the possibility that they'd run into The Twelve. For all she knows, they had people staking out any place she had previously worked in or was even remotely associated with.

Their money woes are making it a bit difficult to truly be in the moment. And it's also her excuse as to why Eve is currently winning by three points. An injustice she plans to rectify shortly.

Using all of her assassin training, she strains her hearing to the max, listening for signs of movement, heavy breathing, _anything_. But she's got nothing. She strongly suspects that Eve removed her boots and is now tip toeing around in her socks. Cheating.

Villanelle is much more sportsman like and won't stoop to that level. She'll win fair and square.

After the next two points are acquired in quick succession, she starts to get annoyed. Holding firm to her newfound standards, she redoubles her efforts and manages to tag her. Unfortunately for every point she gets, Eve gets two more.

She was doing her best not to get super competitive. Like she used to. To the point where no one would play with her anymore.

Game nights with Eve had been a constant struggle. Eve didn't have the same qualms she did about getting on people's bad sides. Eve was even _more_ of a sore loser than she ever was, which she honestly didn't think was possible. Villanelle used to destroy the board games or whatever it was, at the orphanage, the detention centres, prison. Once she even set fire to the game...which is how she accidentally burned down part of the orphanage, killing a bunch of kids.

Not exactly her finest moment.

Time dissipating quickly now, her baser instincts take hold, and she also removes her shoes, and goes full commando, rapidly racking up points. Pretty soon they're neck in neck.

“Hey, no fair!” complains Eve somewhere to her right. “You're cheating!”

“You started it!” she fires back, skirting ever closer to her prey.

“I am _not_ cheating! I just happen to be very light on my feet!”

“Don't make me laugh, Eve! You move about as quietly as a drunk elephant!”

“Are you calling me fat?!”

“Yes, Eve, that's _exactly_ what I'm saying!” she says, rolling her eyes. “You're a total cow!”

“Well you're a...a...I don't know! But something even fatter!”

“Good comeback!”

And then they're suddenly in each others faces, guns firing simultaneously.

A few seconds later the lights come up, the game finished.

They continue to stand there, shoeless, guns raised for several heated moments, reminiscing about that time in Russia when they almost ran off together.

And then the attendant is entering and telling them to hurry up and go before his boss gets there and fires him for doing this.

Like magic, once the vests are off and the plastic guns deposited in the locker room, they're back to their normal selves.

“That was fun,” she says, taking Eve's hand as they exit. “I especially liked the part where I won.”

“You did _not_ win,” says Eve, sounding mortally offended. “I clearly had more points.”

“Whatever you say, Eve.”

“It's not whatever _I_ say, it's what the _system_ says. And it said that I won.”

“That thing was _obviously_ faulty. I counted in my head and I without doubt won.”

Incensed, Eve shouts, “That's it! We're going bowling!”

And then Eve proceeds to effortlessly wipe the floor with her, somehow implausibly getting strikes every single time, despite her terrible form. Towards the end of the game she's drawn a considerable crowd, the whole place really, all silent as the grave. And when she lands that final strike and gets a perfect score, and her name on the wall of fame, the place erupts in cheers.

Villanelle stalks out of the building in a terrible old familiar rage, punches the cement wall in fury, leaving a streak of blood behind, her own version of a signature. Hand throbbing, she carries on sightless for some time, until gradually the bloodlust dissipates, and she makes her way back to the bike.

What she finds there makes her blood boil all over again.

Two hot thirty something year old dudes are chatting Eve up. She thinks maybe they were from the bowling alley. They seem to be animatedly talking about the internal workings of motorbikes, something she never had the slightest interest in. Eve is holding her own, appears to be even _more_ knowledgeable than the dudes, which is apparently super attractive to them, based on the way they are clearly eye fucking her. Doing her best to compose herself, she hangs back for a time, lest she commit murder.

But then she's pushed over the edge when Eve starts posing with the bike, letting them take her picture with their phones.

Without thought, she whips out her gun and presses forward like she's an undercover cop infiltrating a drug den.

“Hey, you, assholes, drop them!”

Practically shitting themselves, they do as she says, hands up in the air comically.

“Now get the fuck out of here and never come back!”

They take off like the wind and then she stomps on the phones far longer than she needs to, like a child having a prolonged tantrum.

“I think they're dead,” says Eve dryly.

Villanelle turns to Eve, furious. “I can't _believe_ you let them take your picture! Hello,” she says knocking on Eve's thick skull, “we're _trying_ to keep a low profile!”

“You're doing a fabulous job so far,” says Eve, glancing at the gun still in her hand.

Villanelle quickly stashes it, then picks up the remains of the phones and throws them against the nearby brick wall, further shattering them to bits.

“Wow, look who's jealous now,” says Eve smugly.

She could deny it but there seems little point. “Well forgive me for not wanting some _perverts_ jerking off to my girlfriend!”

“You think they would have?”

She stares at her incredulously and nevertheless takes the bait. “Uh, duh! Look at you! If I had a dick, I definitely would! I'd probably never stop!”

Supremely satisfied with that response, Eve says, “We should get going, I have a funny feeling the cops will be showing soon.” She holds out the keys, jingles them. “Do you want a turn?”

**

They end up at a tacky fish and chips place by the pier for lunch. She's not a massive fan of greasy foods, much prefers sweet things, but these are surprisingly good. Like insanely good. Apparently Eve had been here before some years back and decided to share it with her.

Bellies full and warm, they go for a stroll on the pier, huddled against one another, breathing in the salty sea air and feeling invigorated by the chilly spring breeze. Miraculously, despite the ominous cloud coverage, it isn't raining.

The chill isn't the only reason she's holding onto Eve tightly. She's never been out and about for this many hours and had so little attention. Plenty of heads were turning, they just weren't for _her_ benefit. Pretty much everyone is checking out Eve. Men, women, children _and_ dogs. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But that's what it felt like to her.

To distract herself from the increasing jealousy and protectiveness, she asks something that has been niggling at the back of her mind since this morning.

“Where did you rent the bike?”

Although it looked like a standard model, it didn't drive like one. Seemed like it had been modified to be faster and smoother than it had any right to be. A so called sleeper.

“I didn't. It's mine.”

She couldn't possibly have afforded it with what they had left. “You built it?”

For all she knows, Eve had her baby shipped over from America and has been keeping it in storage for ten plus years until she finally decided to give it another whirl.

Eve shakes her head, seems hesitant to respond, which makes her instantly suspicious of foul play.

“You stole it?”

“Depends on your point of view,” replies Eve, pointedly gazing out over the ocean rather than looking at her. “Drunk, rich assholes tend to underestimate middle aged ladies in pubs. Especially when they're wearing their reading glasses.”

Once again she's completely floored by Eve's hidden talents.

“You hustled at pool? _You_? Who _are_ you??”

“Who I've always been,” says Eve with conviction. “I just forgot it somewhere down the line.”

Wait a minute...

“You were _out all night_??”

Infuriatingly, Eve simply shrugs. “Like I said, it took longer than expected. Before you get mad again-”

“I'm not...I mean, I _am_ , absolutely _furious_ , but it's whatever.” She lets go of Eve and turns to face her, arms crossed. “You're clearly going to do what you want regardless of how it makes me _feel_. So, let's just get on with this disaster of a day.”

Eve reaches for her but she shrugs her off. “Oh, come _on_ , baby-”

“Don't you _dare_ baby me, not right now.”

A smiling older man comes over right then and says, “Would your daughter like a balloon?”

Cringing internally, she has half a mind to tell him to fuck off like she did Jean. But the sparkly pink one is calling out to her, something Eve easily picks up on.

“You want one, don't you?”

“Yes, please.”

Her fury subsides for all of five seconds. Then Eve pulls out a wad of cash right in front of her. Far more than they had left. It all finally clicks into place. The bike, the expensive clothes, the private showings.

“You gambled _all_ of our remaining money?? What if you had lost??”

The older balloon vender jumps in surprise at this sudden strange outburst, nearly losing the pink balloon. Eyeing her warily, he nonetheless accepts Eve's money and passes it over.

“I didn't,” replies Eve without repentance. “So it doesn't matter.”

Losing her damn mind, Villanelle looses an impressive string of Korean swear words, aim wild but still impactful. For the blink of an eye Eve is ruffled, then she's back to her stoic, maddening self.

“Doesn't matter?!”

The balloon vender hastily searches for enough change to Eve's fifty pound note.

“Look, we needed to do something soon anyway. I made an executive decision. And as you can see, it paid off fabulously.”

She shakes the wad of cash back and forth under her nose, tickling it. Seething, Villanelle shoves her hand away.

Finally locating enough two's, fives, and tens from his pouch, he hands them to Eve, then gives them one final bewildered look and fucks off of his own accord.

The second he's out of the picture, she grabs Eve's arm, intending to drag her somewhere else and beat some sense into her. Or toss her into the ocean. She wasn't picky.

The second she grabs her arm though, Eve winces and reflexively loosens her hold on the balloon. Within seconds its caught on the breeze and far out of reach. She couldn't care less, concern immediately taking hold.

“What happened?”

Eve shrugs, stashing the cash back into her jacket. “Funnily enough, people don't like handing over their prized vehicles...or their _Bulgari_ watches...”

“You got into a bar fight too,” she says wearily.

Is this what it's normally like dealing with _her_? No wonder Konstantin had sprouted grey's prematurely...

“I had it under control. There were just more of them.”

_Under control my arse. You're completely out of control!_

“Take off your jacket,” she sighs. “I want to see how bad it is.”

Acquiescing without complaint, Eve unzips her jacket and winces again as she shrugs out of it.

Like most of the day so far, Villanelle was not prepared. Eve's wearing a distinctly un-Eve like shirt, sleeveless with a plunging neckline...

Eve's smirking when she looks up, and Villanelle rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

There's blood oozing through the bandage on her bicep, it will likely start dripping all over the place soon.

“Come on,” she grumbles, taking her hand, “we need to change that.”

**

The gash isn't too deep, although she thinks it probably could've done with a stitch or two.

“That's going to scar,” she informs Eve while she reapplies a new bandage, something they acquired from the nearby gas station. She's sucking on her favourite brand of lollipop, _Chupa Chups_ , remiscent of her childhood, before it all went to shit.

“I've heard it said that chicks dig scars.”

From her place on the counter, beside the bathroom sink, Eve runs a now bootless foot up the inside of her leg. Villanelle had insisted she strip fully to make sure there weren't any other hidden issues.

She's been on edge all day, so it takes very little to set her off.

They share one heated look and then she's fucking Eve in a public space for the first time.

Fitting that it should be a bathroom of all places.

“You're driving me insane today,” she growls in a mixture of frustration and lust.

Based on the way Eve was dressed, she should've expected the next words out of her mouth.

“Tell me about it, stud.”

Villanelle wheezes out a laugh, nearly chokes on the lolly. She spits it into the sink and redoubles her efforts.

“Oh, I'll tell you _all_ about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just assume she laid a towel out or something and the gas station bathroom was fairly nice lol
> 
> One thing I'm belatedly realizing is that there really should've been a chapter where Eve was teaching V Korean and V teaching Eve Italian or some other language(s). I don't know how V learns languages though. I feel like it's more osmosis/tapes/movies than it is through book learning (even though she was in school for linguistics). I don't know if she can read and write in all of the languages she is fluent in or only speak and understand them well. In the books she is described as having a photographic memory but they've never indicated this in the show, although it would explain how she is a sponge for languages.  
> So all of this is to say that I think I have a 'deleted' scene for y'all after the 'final' chapter...


	10. Chapter 10

Eve knows she really needs to shape up and stop acting like a dickswab. At least for the rest of the day. It's just so much fun to mess with Villanelle the way she has messed with _her_ for so long. Give her a taste of her own medicine. Keep her perpetually off balance.

She knows she's been reckless lately, testing limits. It's why she designed today the way she did. Why she pushed Villanelle to face her childhood fear, why she pitted them against each other in laser tag, why she annihilated her in bowling, and why she purposely flirted with those men in the hopes that Villanelle would see and react.

Eve didn't like being the only crazy jealous person in the relationship. Despite all of Villanelle's reassurances that she was the only one for Eve, she wanted to make sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that Villanelle would fight for her when push came to shove. And Villanelle had more than rose to the occasion. She's almost disappointed Villanelle didn't kill them. Almost.

Perhaps she shouldn't have used her girlfriend's birthday for this little experiment of hers, especially considering she was supposed to be making it up to Villanelle after the cake incident, but it wasn't likely she was going to get such an opportunity again any time soon.

Experiment concluded for now, she dials down the douchery and takes Villanelle to the next activity for the day, rock climbing. She herself has never done it before. Mostly because she doesn't much care for heights, but also because she's never been a fan of exercising in any form. Her slight figure is all a result of good Korean genes, nothing more, nothing less.

Unsurprisingly she sucks at it and Villanelle excels. Eve knew she would. The training by Dasha the gymnast all but guaranteed this. The fact that Villanelle can do a dozen pull ups in a row was also a pretty big indicator. And a pretty big turn on.

The exercise (and sex) and lack of sleep is finally starting to take its toll and she's barely able to keep her eyes open as Villanelle goes about attempting one of the hardest climbing trials. Undoubtedly just as much to show off for her benefit, as it is to prove to Eve that she is definitively better.

“I told you I could do it!” exclaims Villanelle euphorically some time later, perched at the top.

Eve startles from semi-alertness to full wakefulness.

Villanelle frowns down at her, lips pursed, clearly annoyed. “Did you even _see_ me do it?”

“Of course,” she lies. “You were spectacular.”

Villanelle is panting and sweating in her undershirt and the shorts she 'borrowed' from someone else's locker. Her hair is plastered to her scalp. And still somehow she is sexy.

She gives Eve a dubious look, clearly not believing her, but deciding it's not worth getting angry about. She descends, somewhat defeated by Eve's lack of appreciation, something Eve feels bad about. She really was planning to be nice the rest of the day. Her stupid body has other ideas though.

“I'm sorry,” she mutters when Villanelle gets closer. “I'm just so,” - here she holds back a yawn, “tired.”

Villanelle seems to bite her tongue, not saying the rude thing about how it's her own damn fault for staying out all night.

“Me too,” says Villanelle, wiping the sweat from her brow with a towel. “What do you say we take a nap before we continue on?”

Eve smiles gratefully. “That would be lovely.”

Having some familiarity with this area, they end up napping in a local hot spring. The seductive warmth enveloping her flesh knocks her out in seconds flat.

When she comes to next, it's to an unexpected sight.

That of Villanelle, naked, standing above a fully clothed man. Which Eve supposes explains the clatter that woke her up. In the past something like this would've startled her, possibly even made her freak out. Now she just rolls with it.

“Did you...you know...” she slices a finger across her neck.

“No, I didn't kill him. I don't think.” Villanelle stands there proudly, shamelessly, jutting out her chest. “He just fainted when he saw my perfect tits.”

Eve plays along. “Well, I don't blame him. They _are_ pretty stunning. Nearly fainted myself when I first saw them.”

Villanelle just looks at her. “I was joking, Eve. I obviously choked him out.”

“Any particular reason? Or did you just not like his hideous clothing?”

She keeps the other thought to herself. The much more serious one about him possibly being an assassin. What better time to take them out than when they're vulnerable and weaponless with no one for miles around? It's exactly the kind of off the wall opportunity Villanelle would've waited for. Then again, very few assassins were as remarkable and creative as her girlfriend. She would know, she spent most of her life reading true crime novels and keeping up to date with every interesting murderer on the market, living vicariously through them. Villanelle wasn't the first killer she had been a fan of. Did that mean she was a groupie? A groupie of death?

Villanelle rolls her eyes. “He was trying to join us, and when I told him to piss off he took a picture instead. You'd think we were celebrities or something with the amount of pervy men following us around today.”

“I have a feeling this ass,” - she looks to their pile of clothing - “in those pants is the reason for that.”

“You are really feeling yourself today, huh?” says Villanelle, giving her an appraising look. “It's really attractive when you have high self-esteem. Very sexy.”

They stare at one another for so long, she's almost shocked they don't end up having sex again.

A slight breeze pulls Villanelle back to the present, shivering. “Anyway, are you feeling revitalized?”

In other words, can we please get the fuck out of here before he wakes up?

After that detour, they just barely make it to dinner on time. An interactive murder mystery theatre. With Villanelle in the main guest role. Something she was thrilled about...up until she learned she was playing the murder victim and had almost no lines before her characters demise. Eve may have dropped the ball on this too. She perhaps didn't read the fine print as well as she should have. She perhaps had been distracted by Villanelle doing semi-shirtless push ups with one hand.

Since it wasn't her style to literally take things lying down, Villanelle decides to improvise, altering the script, making it a supernatural horror tale, one where her character rises from the grave and goes on a murder spree, seeking revenge on those that wronged her. Which in this case was all of the professional actors. Needless to say, they get kicked out pretty fast.

The rest of dinner ends up being in a cozy pub with juicy steaks and a couple of pints. It also unfortunately happens to be karaoke night. After several horrific renditions of various songs from _Mamma Mia,_ Villanelle gets to her feet, presumably to grab her suit jacket and go. Instead, she puts her jacket on and heads _towards_ the lady who's running the karaoke machine. Then she steps up to the mic.

“This one is for my girlfriend,” starts Villanelle, looking in her direction. “She spent the whole day taking me on a birthday adventure. A lot of what we did was pretty shit. Well, the bathroom sex was really nice...”

Eve closes her eyes in consternation as many eyes land on her.

“...but she definitely needs to learn how to plan this sort of thing better. I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she never got much practice with her husband. _I_ certainly wouldn't have bothered putting in much effort.”

Eve throws her a nasty look which has Villanelle's smug smile faltering. She's absolutely right, she never put in much, or _any_ effort for Niko's birthday celebrations. Once she even forgot all together.

Mostly she's annoyed that Villanelle thinks she didn't put in any effort for _her_ birthday. Sure some of it was mean spirited, but that didn't mean she didn't put in any effort. She has a funny feeling Villanelle is still pissed off about her solo nocturnal adventures.

“Don't get me wrong, I still enjoyed myself today because we were together. Some of it was actually pretty fun. But I think maybe-”

Some drunken asshole shouts, “Just get on with the song! No one wants to hear your gay monologue!”

Villanelle visibly bristles at the words and the interruption, and Eve prepares to be part of a second bar fight within twenty four hours. At this rate they'll have been thrown out of half the places they visited today.

Fiercely glaring down the man, who shrinks back, she continues, “As I was saying, I think maybe next year we'll try for more of a destination vacation instead.” She looks back to Eve, holds her gaze. “What do you say to that, _naui jag-eun yangbaechu_?”

_My little cabbage? Seriously?_

Ever since Villanelle took up Korean in earnest, she had been giving her a new pet name everyday. This one wasn't exactly her favourite. Even worse than my little pony. She almost longs for the days when she was simply, ' _bella_ '. Almost.

But now she has a level of intimacy with someone she's never had before. While both Niko and herself had made some effort to learn each others first languages, it had never progressed beyond a dozen or so commonly used phrases. After awhile she told him to stop all together because he always butchered the pronunciation. Nearly from day one Villanelle had been able to pick it up flawlessly. It was both incredibly impressive and incredibly annoying. Once Villanelle had even corrected her _own_ pronunciation, _while_ she was teaching it to her.

And a destination vacation? Did this mean Villanelle actually expected to be alive a year from now?

Everyone's staring at her again so she feels compelled to respond. “Sounds like a plan.”

Villanelle smiles at that and then nods to the bored lady to start the music.

Eve knew that Villanelle could sing reasonably well. First as Billie, and then practically every day since they ran off together. She would just randomly burst into song, like they were in a fucking musical (which is precisely where she got the idea for her outfit). Initially Eve assumed it was solely to annoy her, but then she realized that Villanelle really did enjoy it.

As soon as the first bars sound Eve knows what's coming, and honestly, she should've expected it.

Instantly she tenses.

“ _I got chiiiills, they're multiplying...”_

Here Villanelle takes off her jacket, just like Travolta did. _  
“And I'm loooosing control...”_

She whirls the jacket around and tosses it behind her. _  
“'Cause the power, you're supplying...”_

Villanelle jumps off the stage and lands directly in front of her. Then she mimes being shocked and falls to the ground in an overly dramatic way. _  
“It's electrifying_!”

Still on the uncommonly clean pub floor, Villanelle holds the wireless mic out to her.

Oh fuck no. She was afraid of this.

If she were still the old Eve, she would've needed a _lot_ more alcohol in her system before she even _entertained_ the notion...but she's the new and improved model, Eve 2.0, full of confidence and lacking any fucks to give, so she grabs the mic out of her hand just in time and plays her 'role'.

Eve pushes Villanelle back with her boot, turns away and sings,

“ _You better shape up, 'cause I need a man_...”

She turns back and sure enough Villanelle is on her feet, ready to act out the rest of the scene. Eve puts a hand to her shoulder and they begin to walk/dance towards the stage.  
“ _And my heart is set on you_...”

She turns away again, Villanelle following, hopelessly enthralled.  
“ _You better shape up, you better understand_...”

She gives Villanelle a no nonsense look.  
“ _To my heart I must be true_.”

Eve holds out the mic and Villanelle sings, “ _Nothing left, nothing left for me to do!”_

Together, _“You're the one that I want,_

_Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey.”_

She supposes Villanelle doesn't go rolling on the ground some more because of needing to reach the mic at the same time as her. Rather, she puts her hands on her waist and dances them around the pub.

“ _You're the one that I want,_

 _Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey._ ”

By the mid-point of the song Eve's actually really enjoying herself, something Villanelle clearly was from the get go. She absolutely loved doing impressions. Say what you want about her, but she never half assed her performances.

“ _You're the one that I want!”_

She's not sure when it happened, but by the end of the song they're back on the stage, breath fast and mingling, bodies flush, one leg raised by Villanelle's hand under her thigh, kind of like a move from a tango. Except neither of them know how to dance nearly well enough to pull off something that sophisticated and sexy.

Extremely turned on, Eve's about to kiss her when she's startled out of their little bubble by the pub giving them a standing ovation. Villanelle smirks at her, clearly reading her intent, then lets her leg go, and turns to face the crowd. She grabs Eve's hand and pulls them down into a bow.

“Nice work, Polastri,” says Villanelle out of the side of her mouth. “You would make a very good thirty year old teenager.”

“Did we _finally_ do something you didn't think was shit?”

She keeps her tone light despite her irritation.

Still Villanelle gets a bit sheepish. “I didn't really mean that.”

“Then why did you say it?”

Even more sheepishly, “So you would feel bad and do the song with me?”

Eve rolls her eyes and pulls them upright. “You're such a dick.”

“Takes one to know one,” comes the childish, yet accurate response.

Holding back a laugh, she grabs Villanelle by the collar and crashes their lips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry/NotSorry. I told myself I wouldn't do this...but I couldn't resist. Goddammit.  
> Why do they know the lyrics without using the teleprompter and have the beginning of the dance number memorized? Because I say so. :P  
> Also, I don't know why the lyrics are listed as ho ho honey on multiple sites. XD  
> I wish I could just burst out into song at random times and not be labelled a crazy person, well more of one haha
> 
> The Korean is undoubtedly wrong since I used Google translate. Please feel free to correct me. Both Eve and Villanelle would. :PP 
> 
> I could totally see past V killing a man simply to let her girlfriend take a nap, and then dragging him into the woods so she never even knew... lmao


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if this chapter is a bit confusing. I 'needed' to have both of their pov's.

A couple of hours later they find themselves in a familiar setting, sexy clothing strewn on the hardwood floor of the _Moorcock Inn_. Unsurprisingly, when their hostess welcomed them, Villanelle had sniggered, and Eve had had to hold back a laugh at her girlfriends childish amusement.

Their room is fairly typical of an old fashioned Bed and Breakfast, complete with old lady feel and smell everywhere. For some reason Villanelle almost didn't enter the room when she saw the dolls lining the window sills. Villanelle had promptly tossed them all into the closet before she was able to relax. Sure they were a little creepy, but hardly something to be afraid of. Then again, as each day passes, Eve finds there is more and more to unravel in that twisted, lost girl head of hers. The llama's had just been the tip of the iceberg. It's a wonder really, that she manages to present herself even as normally as she does.

It's a wonder that they _both_ do.

They're facing each other much the same way they did eons ago when she first tracked her down in Paris. The main difference this time being the robes they're both wearing (and the sex mussed hair). Eve wonders how things would have turned out for them if she had succumbed to Villanelle's charms back then. Would Villanelle have instantly grown bored and killed her? Would she herself have decided to take her revenge moments after instead? Would they have battled to the bitter end? Would neither of them have survived? Or would they somehow have found themselves in a similar place to where they currently were?

Eve supposes it all depends on whether you believed in fate or destiny or any of that crap. Certainly it _seemed_ as though cosmic forces had been perpetually pushing them towards one another, as if it were an inevitability of the universe. Like entropy. Then again, she could say it was just as likely that simple human interference had thrust them together time and time again. That there was no divine intervention needed. Whatever the explanation was, she's glad. She doesn't believe in soulmates, but she _does_ believe that Villanelle is about as close to one as she's ever likely to get.

She's not romantic, never has been. Out of the two of them, Villanelle is much more so. She supposes one would _have_ to be if they were big on grand gestures, like castrating and murdering a woman's husband to prove their devotion, then setting the stage for a celebration. That was the main reason she hadn't put together a traditional birthday room for Villanelle. That and the fact that she is absolutely shit at decorating. She doesn't have a single artistic bone in her body. She can't even manage straight lines with a guillotine paper cutter.

Making Villanelle something was completely out of the question.

Eve did however get her something. A couple of somethings actually. She'll hand them over soon enough but for now she wants to enjoy this quiet moment between them, a rarer and rarer occurrence.

When Villanelle looks into her eyes like this, Eve feels like she's reading her mind. Like she can see every nook and cranny, and all of the cobwebs and lurking horrors combined. And yet, she still chooses to look, to not shy away. Perhaps Villanelle sees her own reflection in her eyes, so there's nothing to fear?

**

She's always excelled at staring contests. Even in her youth. She could go hours without blinking if she really wanted to. Villanelle has stared down The Queen's Guards and many human statues, and won. Despite this, somehow Eve often gives her a run for her money. It's rather remarkable, and yet another reason why she loves Eve with all her heart. Eve was increasingly proving herself to be her equal in every way imaginable.

Not long ago, a realization like that would have threatened her superiority complex and likely led to murder.

Blinking, Eve ends the contest first, then takes her bruised and bandaged hand in her own. Gently, she brings her lips to the slightly soiled fabric, and says, “Mia bella farfallina.”

Villanelle bites her tongue at that. Technically Eve just said, my beautiful little butterfly. However, her dirty mind went to a completely different place. Farfallina was also sometimes used to refer to a vagina. Like minou in French. One of the first things she ever heard Helene say when she was talking to her kid. She half wonders if Helene even _has_ a kid and that whole thing wasn't simply a performance. To what end, she doesn't know. But why else would she enter their meeting on speakerphone? Why enter at all before the conversation was concluded? Why give an unpredictable assassin any personal information about her family?

Konstantin always tried his best to keep work and family separate. It hadn't worked, but he had _tried_. Either Helene was simply that arrogant or it was all faked for some reason that she'll probably never understand.*

At least Eve hadn't called her a womanizer by accident.

“Did I say that right?”

Villanelle twines their fingers together, ignoring the sting. “You said it perfectly, my love,” she responds in Korean, eliciting a proud smile from Eve, which ironically makes her tummy flutter with their current topic. “Why butterfly?”

“Because you've transformed.”

“So have you.”

Softly, they smile at one another.

And then she ruins it. “So you're saying I was an ugly caterpillar before and now...”

Eve rolls her eyes. “Caterpillars aren't ugly in my opinion but they _can_ be pretty dangerous.”

“You're joking.”

Eve shakes her head. “Like a lot of kids, I was a bit of a naturalist, and learned the hard way that some of those fuckers are evil. Most of the time they just spew stinky shit if you frighten them, but sometimes they shoot little spikes into your hand...”

Here Eve squeezes her damaged hand a bit roughly and Villanelle flinches. Eve seems oblivious though, the pressure increasing more and more each second.

“...like a porcupine, except they're invisible to the naked eye. Still hurt like a bitch.”

_No shit_.

“Thought my hand was permanently paralyzed. I wouldn't give the little fucker the satisfaction of seeing me cry though.”

Eve rants about this like it's a recent injustice. Villanelle wisely chooses not to comment. Blessedly, Eve relaxes the death grip that nearly has her crying out like the husband of a pregnant lady giving birth.

“Anyway, Konstantin said this thing to me once about how I should leave you alone because you would devour my brains like the hungry caterpillar from the children's book.”

“Konstantin is an arse,” she says, making a face like she just smelled dung. And _not_ the dry kind that turned her into the champion of the competition. Her prize unfortunately never made it out of the house.

“He was also right. You _did_ devour my brains.” Eve releases her poor, mangled hand and puts her own hand to her cheek, reminiscent of that second time in the kitchen when they also nearly had sex.** “You're the only thing I think about these days. The only thing I've thought about for a long time.”

She places her hand over top Eve's, traps it so it can't do more damage. “I'm glad you didn't take his advice and give up on me. And for what it's worth, I never stopped thinking about you, even after I thought you were...”

She glances away, still unable and unwilling to deal with what she foolishly did.

“I know.”

They smile at one another again, savouring this unusual heart to heart. Neither were particularly adept at verbally expressing their feelings, least of all Eve, which is most likely why they kept hurting each other in the past, intentionally or not. Perhaps now that Eve has re-discovered her true nature and come to terms with it, and established this new sense of self in place of the decaying shell of the old one, she will be much freer in her exaltations of love?

**

“So...where are my presents?” asks Villanelle, gazing around the room as if she expects to find them stashed all over, despite the fact that they randomly ended up here. “I'm assuming you got me at least twenty-seven of them, like that spoiled fat kid in _Harry Potter_.”

Eve both loves and hates Villanelle's ability to turn a genuine, serious moment into a silly one.

_It's a very beautiful face._

She plays along this time and points to the empty corner. “Right over there in my charmed bag.”

“Do you think Rowling stole that idea from _Mary Poppins_?”

“I think that I don't care. Magic isn't real.”

“How can you say that, Eve?” frowns Villanelle, apparently taking offense. Eve knows otherwise. “What about what _we_ have together?”

“Smooth,” she replies, stifling a laugh.

Villanelle grins. Then, “Seriously, Eve, I _know_ you got me something. I think I've waited patiently enough all day.”

“Oh, so _that's_ what you were doing when you were rifling through my jacket? Waiting patiently?”

“Okay you caught me,” says Villanelle, not very repentantly. “I was just _so_ excited. It better live up to all of my wildest expectations or we're going to have to break up.”

Her scar prickles unpleasantly, not unlike a certain bespectacled boy.

“Well, we can't have that.”

Eve reaches under the queen sized bed and retrieves a couple of brightly wrapped presents.

Villanelle looks at the act in bewilderment, like she just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

Eve elaborates. “Stashed them here when you were in the loo.”

Before that they were locked in the motorbike. Which, duh. Thankfully the fingerprint lock had held firm to Villanelle's expert probing. It was part of the reason she had wanted the bike in the first place.

“Sneaky, sneaky.”

Eve sets the presents on the bed between them.

Predictably, Villanelle goes for the larger, more ostentatious one on the bottom first. Bristling with infectious energy, she tears into it like an eight year old. Then she just stares at the contents without expression or comment for so long that Eve begins to doubt her choice.

“You said you didn't remember ever having a birthday party when you were young, so I thought I'd bring a little of that feeling to you. I'm sorry if it's lame. I thought it would be-”

“It's lovely, Eve,” interrupts Villanelle with tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Relieved, she makes a joke. “Maybe now you can finally make me a decent cake.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes and sets the _Easy Bake Oven_ aside. Then she picks up the much smaller parcel, takes more time with it, shakes it around. “Let me guess, it's _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_?”

“You got me,” she says dryly.

Inside, she's nervous again. This was far and away the most intimate and personal present she had given someone in quite some time. Perhaps ever.

Nerve wrackingly slowly this time, Villanelle peels the tape off bit by bit, which is quite the feat considering there's only one strip.

She holds the vivid red jewelry box in her hand, stares at it, then Eve, then back at the box and finally, _finally_ pops it open.

Once again, she says nothing, and gives nothing away, and it's absolute torture not knowing what's going on in her head.

Villanelle takes the ring out of the box, turns it over several times, sees the inscription on the inside – _let's do the monster mash forever, baby_ \- and promptly starts crying.

_Fuck_.

“Are those happy tears or-”

“Of _course_ they're happy tears, you idiot,” cuts off Villanelle charmingly. She sticks the shiny gold butterfly ring on her left thumb, then holds out her hand to admire it, like she's trying to hitch a ride. The ring is understated in a way that her girlfriend rarely is, with little embellishment outside of the slightly pinkish hue of the partially raised rose gold wings. Eve will never admit it, and probably doesn't have to, but the main reason she got a thumb ring was to definitively replace the old one that she suspects Anna gave her years back and Villanelle has inexplicably held on to.

After a few seconds, Villanelle looks to Eve and says, “I love it.” She shuffles closer, pulls her into a too tight hug. “I love _you_. _So_ much. You have no idea.”

“I think I have some idea by the python grip,” she wheezes.

Villanelle relaxes her hold and rests her cheek against hers, the wetness of the silent tears still flowing. “Sorry.”

“You liked the inscription then?” she needlessly asks, rubbing Villanelle's back soothingly. She honestly had been a bit concerned that Villanelle wouldn't even understand it. It was after all inscribed in Korean and she was still learning. “I know it's not very conventional, but it seemed fitting. I thought you'd laugh actually, not cry.”

“It was very funny, Eve.” She kisses her earlobe. “I thought you hated when I say that though?”

Eve shrugs. “Guess it grew on me.” She pinches Villanelle's side. “Like a certain colourful toe fungus.”

Villanelle chuckles wetly. “Excuse you. I am _nothing_ like fungus.”

“Uh, actually you're very similar. You both like to keep a low profile and can survive in harsh conditions. You both can attack with deadly purpose, which helps keep populations in check. You're both capable of controlling others to do your bidding.” She lowers her voice seductively and Villanelle shivers, “You both taste amazing.”

Villanelle shakes this off and slightly breathlessly says, “Did you just _Google_ a bunch of fungus facts so you could sound both insulting and impressive at the same time?”

“It's fungi, and yes, pretty much,” she smirks.

She feels the answering smile against her cheek. “You're such a dick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Villanelle pulls away to give her a mock indignant look then draws her back in for a soft and sweet kiss, a hand in her hair, caressing. “Despite you driving me up the walls, today's been perfect. But one thing has been missing.”

“And what's that?”

“I didn't get to blow out any candles.”

In other words, where's my cake?

In response, she just looks to the _Easy Bake Oven_.

“Seriously, Eve?” whines Villanelle, this time in actual disbelief. “I've consistently given you the best orgasms of your life and _that_ is my reward?”

_What happened to, it's lovely?_

“Don't knock it till you've tried it.” She says this far more confidently than she has any right to. She has no idea whether it will be good or not. Villanelle's palate was highly unpredictable. Sometimes it only accepted the most refined foods, and sometimes it absolutely loved the trashiest shit. Eve's counting on the latter.

Skeptically, Villanelle unboxes the oven, removes all the bits and bobbles, organizes them, then rips open the provided rainbow cake mix and pours it into the palm sized pan. Eve hands her a glass of water and Villanelle carefully stirs it together, her brow furrowed in concentration, as if this was of vital importance. She slides the pan into the oven with the little pink plastic implement and brings the whole contraption over to the bathroom wall outlet where she plugs it in.

“How long is this supposed to take?” she asks, almost immediately after turning it on, already impatient.

“What did the instructions say?”

Eve sees her roll her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Only losers read instruction manuals, Eve.”

“Well then, prepare for possibly eating under-cooked cake.”

Her girlfriend wanders around for all of a minute then goes to check on the cake again, hand to the oven. “This thing isn't even warm yet,” she complains. “This is going to take forever!”

She's pretty sure you're supposed to preheat just like a regular oven. No wonder Villanelle was a terrible baker.

“Well, I have an idea of what you can _do_ in the meantime,” she says seductively again, opening her robe wide to make her meaning plain as day.

Villanelle doesn't take the bait, just stands in the corner, arms crossed, pouting.

And wow, that was the first time in the history of their relationship that Villanelle wasn't instantly all over her. Sure, they'd already fucked a bunch today, but that had never stopped her before.

Feeling kind of offended, Eve does her robe back up, mood also heading south.

Still, she decides not to descend into full blown gloom and instead get out of the bed and go to her. She unwraps Villanelle's arms and puts them around her neck, her own hands landing on her waist.

“Dance with me.”

“We already did this today,” grumbles Villanelle.

“Not like _this_ ,” says Eve, swaying them gently to the beat of an invisible band.

Villanelle's resistant for approximately point two seconds and then she sinks into her embrace in a similar way to the first time they ever did this. It was only a couple of months ago but it felt like forever. So much had happened since then. So much had stayed exactly the same.

They were still no further ahead on The Twelve front. Not that they had tried very hard at any point. Part of her wants to just let it all go. The other part knows it's impossible. Something _had_ to be done. No matter how far they ran, they could always be found.

“I think we need to ask for help,” she says hesitantly after some minutes of silent bliss. It was always bliss in Villanelle's arms. “I think we need to call someone.”

“I know,” sighs Villanelle. “Tomorrow though.” She burrows her face into her hair, breathes her in. “Tonight I want you all to myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the reason of course is probably comedy
> 
> **that's right I don't think they did it then. Despite those bts pics lol
> 
> I was going to 'end' this with Carolyn bustling in whenever they met up and giving an odd little monologue but decided to just leave it here in this quiet moment between them instead. I'm ending it here because I don't actually know how they would realistically take down the twelve, and more importantly, I'm tired of writing. :P  
> Of course I've also got a previous fill-in-the-blank chapter to come...but then that's it. Definitely. Maybe.
> 
> I wouldn't say it was an engagement ring exactly...but close enough that there's not much difference...
> 
> V is both a butterfly and a fungus. I'm not sure how that works but don't question it...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna say this happens between chapters four and five.

“Why do you never speak Russian? I've heard you show off with lots of other languages, but never that one.”

Eve asks this deceptively casually as she flips through a grocery store flyer. The intent had clearly been to catch her off guard. However, she doesn't fall for it.

“I don't want to talk about it,” she says, resisting the strong urge to fold into herself.

Surprise tactic failed, Eve puts the flyer down and watches her retreating attitude, analyzing. “Does it have something to do with Anna? Your mother?”

Once again she's a little unnerved by Eve's astute observations which were growing in frequency and depth everyday. Almost like she could read her mind.

“Like I said, I don't want to talk about it.”

Eve continues to silently study her, like she's her therapist and waiting for her to crack. Irritatingly it works.

“ _What_?” she snaps.

“Did you know that sometimes you speak Russian in your sleep?”

No she didn't fucking know that. She wonders why Maria never said anything. Then again her wife was quite the sound sleeper...especially after she had fucked her brains out. The rest of the time they never shared a bed. That likely would've changed had she stayed past the reception. She wonders if Konstantin knew about this. Considering how often he just let himself in and watched her sleep, probably. What a creeper.

“What do I say?” she bites, curious, despite her discomfort.

“I don't know but you tend to say the same thing over and over again. I recorded you, if you ever want to have a listen sometime.”

Her burning need for the tape recorder suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.

“That is _so_ creepy, Eve!” she chastises in disbelief. She was surrounded by creepers. “Imagine if I hovered over _you_ in the middle of the night with a tape recorder to catch you snor-”

“I don't snore.”

“-ing how would you like that??”

“I don't snore,” reiterates Eve. “Niko would have told me.”

“You sure about that? Isn't it more likely that Saint Mustache would've suffered through it rather than tell you?”

“Are you saying you're a saint _too_ then?” counters Eve with an eyebrow raise. “If I snored you would have _loudly_ complained about it on Day One.”

While Eve smugly takes the win, she takes the opportunity to further redirect the attention from herself and the uncomfortable topic.

“Do you really only know English, Eve? That's so...privileged.”

“You were going to say, white, weren't you?” says Eve, vaguely amused.

“American, actually,” she lies.

Eve gives her a look like she doesn't buy it but lets it pass. “Well, anyway, I never said I only knew English. I just don't know _your_ languages. Unless of course you're _also_ fluent in Polish?”

Villanelle shakes her head, annoyed that Eve still has any shred of connection to The Mustache. She's determined to undermine that and completely sever all ties once and for all. Like a totally normal loving girlfriend would do.

“What else do you speak?”

Eve gestures to her face.

“Oh, Mandarin. I know some Mandarin.”

Eve does that adorable thing where she holds in a laugh at her dick behaviour, but the corner of her mouth always gives her away.

“Seriously, Eve, talk Korean to me,” she says, jiggling her leg. “I want to hear it.”

“We can't always have what we want,” returns Eve meanly. “Maybe if you asked nicely instead of demanding, I would grant your wish.”

Day by day Eve had been trying to house break her, make her follow some kind of structure and rule guide. Manners were near the top of the list. It wasn't working very well, but she was persisting regardless.

She rolls her eyes but nevertheless complies this time. “Would you _please_ talk Korean to me?”

“Maybe later, don't really feel like it right now.” Eve stretches and fake yawns. “I'm pretty tired.”

It was ten o'clock in the morning.

“ _Eve_ ,” she whines, repeatedly poking her in the arm. “I won't stop until you do it.”

“Okay, _fine_.”

Sensually Eve runs a hand through her luscious curls, maintains eye contact all the while, then leans in close, whispers something sexily in her ear, making her heart rate pick up. She didn't often get particularly flirty. Not while sober anyway.

“What did you say?”

Eve just shrugs and picks up the flyer again, pretends to peruse. She's clearly getting off on the power trip of knowing more than her for once.

Villanelle plucks it out of her hands and crawls into her lap, making sure she has her full attention. “Tell me what you said. _Please_.”

Sarcastically, “Remind me again how many times I asked the same thing of you and you didn't tell me?”

It's absolutely true that she would often say things to Eve in other languages and not elaborate, but that was only because they were _secret_ things that Eve wasn't ready to hear yet.

“That's different.”

“How so?” Villanelle pouts and Eve gloats. “That's what I thought.”

Changing tactics quickly, she slips her hands under Eve's boring pyjama top. She slides them slowly, tantalizingly upwards until she reaches her targets.

“What did you say?” she says, squeezing.

Frustratingly, she doesn't receive the expected reaction.

“Sorry, baby, if you want me to tell you, you're going to need to try a little harder than _that_.”

 _Challenge accepted_.

**

Three orgasms later she looks to Eve and says, “ _Well_?”

Finally Eve reveals the answer to the big mystery.

“I said, there's a sale on that toilet paper you like and we should probably stock up.”

**

Four days pass before she has the courage to listen to the sleep recording. She's in the bathroom so she has some privacy. She doesn't know how she will react and she doesn't want Eve to see her breakdown if at all possible. She's already cried in her arms numerous times, more times than she has in her entire life. This lack of control was starting to get embarrassing, a new emotion she doesn't much care for.

Several deep breaths later, she clicks the play button.

There's nothing but static for several long interminable seconds and then, “ _Da, ya by khotel tort.”_

Is that all? She's just been saying she wants some cake? Relief floods her system. Turns out she overreacted for no good reason.

She's about to turn it off when she sleep talks once more.

“ _Ty bespoleznyy zloy rebenok. Ya by khotel chtoby ty nikogda ne rodilsya_.”

Fuck. It still stung to hear her mothers hateful words flung back at her. Since she killed her though, Villanelle doesn't find it too devastating. It's the next bit that throws her for a loop.

“ _Ty voploshchennyy d'yavol. Zhal' chto ya nikogda ne vstrechal tebya_.”

This time she bites her lip to suppress the urge to tear up. That moment was probably the worst of her entire life. Up until she 'killed' Eve that is.

She doesn't think she can stomach anymore, and thankfully she doesn't have to. Eve was right. It just cycled on a loop ad naseum after that point.

There's a tiny knock on the door and she freezes, then quickly clicks off the recorder, like she's just been caught out listening to porn. Torture porn.

“Are you okay?” asks Eve from the other side.

When she doesn't respond, Eve says, “When you're ready to talk about it, I'm here.”

Some minutes later, once she's composed herself, she exits the bathroom to find Eve in bed, reading a book. Except she's not turning any of the pages and is clearly waiting for her to engage. She doesn't want to in the slightest but she knows if she doesn't, it's just going to eat away at her until she starts acting cruel for no reason. The last thing she wants to do is drive Eve away. Even so, seeing her now, she's a little resentful. She could've lived the rest of her life without ever knowing about any of this.

Villanelle stands at the foot of the bed, afraid if she goes any nearer to Eve she may lash out, or breakdown.

Without any preamble she begins, “It was because of prison. I didn't want them to understand what I was saying.”

Slowly, Eve puts the book down and regards her. “Because it was rude?”

“Because it got me into trouble. Didn't matter though...eventually they just assumed I was being rude and punished me anyway. Spent a lot of time in the hole...solitary,” she clarifies when Eve looks confused.

“So if it didn't stop them from punishing you, then why did you stop speaking Russian?”

This is the part that she doesn't want to get into. She swallows thickly, agitated, then forces herself to go on.

“The Hole does things to a person, Eve. Makes their minds go crazy.” She starts pacing back and forth just like she did in her cell. “I started imagining my mother was in there with me, constantly berating me...and I couldn't stand it so I just refused to engage, hoping she'd eventually give up and leave me alone. When that didn't work, I would sing national anthems to block her out.”

Eve looks at her, confused once more.

“I had to learn a number of them for school.”

Which brings her to: “Sometimes Anna would show up instead, telling me how evil I was over and over again.”

_Ty voploshchennyy d'yavol_

She clears her throat, blinks back the tears and trudges on. “Sometimes it was both of them at the same time.”

One time in desperation she had run headlong into the door to knock herself out just to get some peace and quiet.

“I rejected my birth language to cope. Trained myself not to even think in it.” Obviously she was only partially successful in that endeavour. “The less I thought in Russian, the less they came out to torment me... and eventually they stopped altogether...”

Eve absorbs the new information for a few beats, a pained expression across her face. Villanelle thinks she might come over and hug her, offer comfort of some sort, comfort she's not sure she actually wants right now. Dredging up these loathsome memories is literally causing her skin to itch. Distance is probably best. She thinks Eve understands that.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that.” Mere seconds pass and then, “Why did you write Anna so many letters if she caused you so much pain?”

She's a little surprised that Anna showed them to Eve, and a little concerned about whether or not Eve read any of them. They were pretty...graphic.

“I wanted to cause her pain too,” she replies, voice thick with emotion.

Something seems to turn over in Eve's brain. “Those weren't love letters?”

That erroneous idea almost makes her laugh. Clearly Eve did not in fact understand French. It was honestly a relief considering the disturbing subject matter.

“Anna said you often talked about getting out and coming back to her. You meant it as a threat?”

“Why do you think I chose French to communicate with her? I needed to make sure they passed inspection.”

“Why would Anna keep them if they weren't nice?”

She feels like Eve can figure this one out for herself. Nevertheless she answers, “Because she liked to suffer, feel guilty for her sins like a good catholic. She's the one that put me in there-”

“-And you were never going to let her forget it.”

For this very reason, Villanelle was hardly surprised when Anna killed herself. Despite all of her hateful letters, she had been unable to pull that trigger when next they met. Perhaps if she had had a bit more time she might've managed it.

“You're disgusted with me, with how malicious I was, aren't you?” She grinds her teeth a bit, vexed. She doesn't want Eve to have a poor opinion of her, not when they were _finally_ in a good place.

Now it's Eve's turn to almost laugh. That gives her pause.

“You literally shot me, Villanelle. I'm well aware of how malicious you can be when you're rejected.”

_Wow, I'm a fucking idiot. Duh._

“But that's all in the past now. You're a different person.”

Eve kept saying things like this. Villanelle's not sure who she's trying to convince.

“Recognizing that your treatment of Anna was wrong just proves that. But to be honest, she deserved it.”

“What?” she says, unable to hide her surprise.

Not too long ago Eve was talking about herself and Anna in the same breath, as if they were basically the same, at least in a motherly capacity. Apparently she had mulled things over some more and changed her mind. *

“You were barely legal. Alone in the world. She took advantage of you. If she had done the right thing, been a decent human being, none of that would have happened to her, to her husband.”

Villanelle's a little floored by Eve's coldness towards Anna.

“I mean, I was pretty persistent with my seduction and-”

“And nothing,” says Eve, adamant. “She should have drawn a line and not crossed it. You spent a lot of time together. She must have had some idea of your true nature, of your obsessive and possessive tendencies, or she was a total moron. Do you think she was a total moron?”

Speechless, she shakes her head.

“Well there you go. She knew your history of violence. She knew full well what she was getting herself into when she pursued you back.” Eve continues on relentlessly, getting increasingly worked up, like she would've put a bullet in Anna's head herself right now if given the opportunity. This perceived protectiveness, real or imagined, makes Villanelle's brain melt, so that she nearly misses the rest of it. “I wouldn't be surprised if she did it on purpose hoping you would get rid of her husband for her. If she was willing to risk her career and reputation and relationship with God no less, then she must have badly wanted him out of the picture. Maybe he was secretly abusive? And maybe she just _pretended_ to be all broken up about his death because it would've looked strange otherwise.”

Her heads spinning when she musters up her voice. “So you _really_ think she wasn't interested in me for _me_...and only allowed my advances because she expected me to commit murder? Isn't that a bit of a stretch, Eve?”

_Not to mention devastating._

Eve appears to realize how much her words are affecting her and tries to soften the blow a bit. “Look, she told me about your conversation about Max before you killed him. About how she agreed with you that she probably only loved him because he had a penis. She _knew_ you could be quite literal. Was likely counting on it. I don't mean to be a bitch...but I don't think she loved you. Not in the way you _thought_ you loved her. If she had really loved you, she wouldn't have gotten involved with you in the first place...”

 _A flashback to the bridge, to the second worst moment of her life when she thought she was losing Eve forever...again_.

“...And failing that, she wouldn't have turned you into the authorities. If it had all been a terrible misunderstanding, she would've helped you cover up what had actually happened.”

She doesn't want to accept anything Eve is saying. Doesn't want to even begin to entertain the notion. Once more she feels like a caged animal, like she used to feel in the hole, and her claws finally come out.

“Would _you_ have done that?!” she demands, slapping both hands down onto the bed, body tensed, as if on the verge of pouncing. “If it had been Niko?!”

Eve seems unperturbed by her vehemence, doesn't even flinch, like she expected it. “When we first started our little dance...no. But now...”

Once again Eve said something that implied she loved her but was incapable of saying the words outright. It was infuriating.

“I've upset you.”

_No shit._

“She didn't deserve you.”

“Jealous of a dead woman? Really, Eve?”

This time there isn't even a hint of teasing.

“That's not what this is about.”

“Isn't it?”

They face off for some time, neither budging an inch.

Finally, Eve sighs. “I just want you to realize that not everything is on you all of the time. Relationships are two way streets and the other party is always at _least_ a little bit culpable, especially when they're in a position of power. I know you probably thought _you_ were the one in charge, calling the shots, but it almost certainly wasn't as clear cut as that.”

What she was saying made some sense but she didn't want to accept it because if it were true then her first love was a total lie and everything about that relationship was false. It meant that Anna had been playing a role just as much as she had, and she never got to know the real woman.

Cautiously, Eve approaches, but Villanelle keeps her distance, retreats back into the bathroom. She needed some time alone, to think. To process.

**

It's dark when she finally vacates the bathroom and crawls into bed. Eve says nothing, only collects her in her arms. Several minutes of silence pass, the calm that can only be brought about by the steady thump of Eve's heartbeat washing over her.

“I'm grateful for her.” Eve bristles at that pronouncement but Villanelle carries on, undeterred. “If she hadn't used me the way she did, I might never have been arrested for murder, might never have attracted The Twelve in the same way. And then I might never have been on your radar, and we might never have even met.”

Unthinkable now after everything. They were connected on a spiritual level. She'll never forget the full body shivers she got when she found out about the pitchforking, and that inexplicable moment in Russia. She was pretty sure if Eve bled, so would she.

An extended beat of quiet and then Eve squeezes her tighter, places a kiss to the top of her head. “I wish you hadn't had to go through so much trauma for that to happen.”

Eve says this so genuinely, so palpably, it melts her heart again. She doesn't think anyone in her entire life has cared about her well-being as much as Eve does. Not anyone who knew the _real_ her anyway.

“Things have a funny way of working out, don't they? All things being equal in the universe, the balance had to tip in my favour at least once in a lifetime.”

“Are you saying I'm your once in a lifetime...” teases Eve.

Villanelle is beyond grateful to be back to the light heartedness.

She smiles, snuggles even closer to the love of her life and kisses her sexy collarbone. “I'm saying I'm really glad I get to kiss you whenever I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *more like I changed MY mind lol...and now I'm not so sure about the whole mommy kink thing either...hindsight is 20/20...or whatever the expression is...I certainly don't have 20/20 vision in day to day life. :P
> 
> As usual, please correct my terrible translations. The first bit is supposed to say, “Yes, I would like cake.” And the second bit is supposed to say, “You are a worthless, evil child. I wish you had never been born.” And the last bit is supposed to say, “You are the devil incarnate. I wish I had never met you.”
> 
> Crazy thought...but pushing things even further...what if Anna had actually been involved with The Twelve, and they told her what to do in order to get rid of her husband...and the whole point was to entrap Oksana so she had no choice but to work for them or rot in prison forever? It's a far fetched theory...but at the same time...I almost suspect that they were watching her from a young age...after the orphanage incident...and that's why there was so much miscommunication or misinformation surrounding people's demises...
> 
> Anyway, it's possible I may do something similar to this in future...ie. fill in more of the blanks before chapter 7. I kind of let the birthday thing get out of hand. Combine that with my inability to plan...and that's what happens :/

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any suggestions of convos you want them to have. Let me know!


End file.
